RHYMES 
OF  CHILDHOOD 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


THE  OLD  SWIMMIN'-HOLE 

AND'LEVEN  MORE  POEMS. 

SKETCHES  IN  PROSE 

AND  OCCASIONAL  VERSES. 

AFTERWHILES:  DIALECT 

AND  OTHER  POETRY. 

PIPES  O'PAN:  FIVE  SKETCHES 

AND  FIFTY  POEMS. 

RHYMES  OF  CHILDHOOD:  DIALECT 

AND  OTHER  VERSES. 
[The  above  published  by 
THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  Co.,  Indianapolis.] 

IN  ENGLAND— 

[By  LONGMANS,  GREEN  &  Co.,  London.] 

OLD-FASHIONED  ROSES: 

POEMS  DIALECT  AND  VARIOUS. 


Wojild,  as  now,  we  might  endure, 
Twain  as  one! 


RHYMES  OF 

CHILDHOOD 


JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 


INDIANAPOLIS 
THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  CO 


Univ.  Library,  (JC  Santo  Gas  IWf 


COPYRIGHT  1890 

BY 
J.  W.  RILEY 


es 


TO 

THE  LITTLE  NEPHEW 
HENRY  EDMUND  EITEL 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

IN  presenting  herein  the  child  dialect  upon  an  equal  footing 
with  the  proper  or  more  serious  English,  the  conscientious 
author  feels  it  neither  his  desire  nor  province  to  offer    excuse. 
Wholly  simple  and  artless,  Nature's  children  oftentimes  seem 
the  more  engaging  for  their  very  defects  of  speech  and  general 
deportment.   We  need  worry  very  little  for  their  futures  since 
the  All-Kind  Mother  has  them  in  her  keep. 

It  is  just  and  good  to  give  the  elegantly  trained  and  edu- 
cated child  a  welcome  hearing.  It  is  no  less  just  and  pleasant 
to  admit  his  homely  but  wholesome-hearted  little  brother  to 
our  interest  and  love.  J.  W.  R. 


CONTENTS 

PROEM— THE  RIDER  OF  THE  KNEE 

THE  RAGGEDY  MAN i 

THE  LITTLE-RED-APPLE  TREE 3 

A  BOY'S  MOTHER            5 

THK  PIXY  PEOPLE 6 

UNCLE  SIDNEY 9 

PANSIES „ 10 

WAITIN'  PER  THE  CAT  TO  DIE       .        .        .        .,        .        .        .        .n 

THE  FISHING  PARTY 13 

MOTHER  GOOSE         . 15 

THE  HAPPY  LITTLE  CRIPPLE       .                16 

THE  DAYS  GONE  BY 19 

THE  BOY  LIVES  ON  OUR  FARM 20 

THE  ROBINS'  OTHER  NAME 21 

To  HATTIE — ON   HER  BIRTHDAY 22 

THE  LOST  Kiss 23 

MABEL            25 

LITTLE  GIRLY-GIRL 27 

THE  RUNAWAY  BOY 28 

TIME  OF  CLEARER  TWITTERINGS 30 

ON  THE  SUNNY  SIDE 33 

THE  ALL-GOLDEN             35 

LONGFELLOW'S  LOVE  FOR  THE  CHILDREN 37 

WINTER  FANCIES 38 

THE  PRAYER  PERFECT 40 

A   MOTHER-SONG .            .  4! 

IN  THE  NIGHT 42 


THE  FUNNY  LITTLE  FELLOW 43 

UNCLE  Si DNEY' s  ~\  IEWS 46 

WHEN  EARLY  MARCH      .EMS  MIDDLE  MAY 47 

THE  NINE  LITTLE  GOB     :s 49 

THE  LITTLE  COAT 5T 

OUR  HIRED  GIRL 53 

THE  DREAM  OF  THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS 55 

THE  LAND  OF  USED-TO-BE 58 

WHO  SANTA-CLAUS  Wuz 60 

WHEN  OUR  BABY  DIED 62 

CHRISTINE  BRAIBRY 63 

THE  SQUIRTGUN  UNCLE  MAKED  ME 67 

A    HOME-MADE  FAIRY-TALE 69 

THE  YOUTHFUL  PRESS 71 

THAT-AIR  YOUNG-UN 72 

BABY'S  DYING 76 

GRANNY'S  COME  TO  OUR  HOUSE            77 

THE  BOYS 79 

THE  STEPMOTHER. So 

OLD  MAN'S  NURSERY  RHYME Si 

THE  SONG  CF  YESTERDAY 83 

LITTLE  ORPHANT  ANNIE 85 

BABYHOOD 8S 

MAX  AND  JIM 89 

THE  CIRCUS-DAY  PARADE 90 

THE  OLD  HAY-MOW 92 

JOHN  TARKINGTON  JAMESON          .        .        .        .        .        .        .        -94 

DWAINIE— A  SPRITE  SONG 95 

GUINEYPIGS 96 

BUSCH  AND  TOMMY 97 

LITTLE  MAHALA    ASHCRAFT 98 

BABE  HERRICK .        .  100 

THE  LANDOFTHUS-AND-SO 101 

GRANDFATHER  SQUEERS      .        .                                         ...  104 

THE  LITTLE  TINY  KICKSHAW                108 


THE  LUGUBRIOUS  WHING-WHANG 109 

LAWYER  AND  CHILD in 

THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 112 

THE  FUNNIEST  THING  IN  THE  WORLD 119 

CRADLE  SONG 120 

LITTLE  JOHNTS'S  CHRISMUS 121 

DOWN  AROUND  THE  RIVER .        .        .  125 

THE  BOYS'  CANDIDATE 127 

THE  BUMBLE-BEE 128 

HE  CALLED  HER  IN 129 

THE  BOY-FRIEND "...  134 

WHEN  THE  WORLD  BU'STS  THROUGH    .......  136 

A  PROSPECTIVE  GLIMPSE 138 

THE  OLD  TRAMP 139 

CURLY  LOCKS 140 

THE  PET  COON 141 

A  NONSENSE  RHYME 143 

NAUGHTY  CLAUDE      .  146 

THE  OLD,  OLD  WISH 147 

THE  PREACHER'S  Bov 148 

AN  IMPETUOUS  RESOLVE        .........  151 

A  SUDDEN  SHOWER .  152 

THE  HUNTER  BOY 154 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  MOON 155 

A  CHILD'S  HOME — LONG  AGO         „...„...  158 

BILLY  GOODIN'     .  161 

A  PASSING  HAIL 162 

PRIOR  To  Miss  BELLE'S  APPEARANCE        ......  164 

SPRITE  SERENADE 167 

A  LIFE-LESSON 169 

HONEY  DRIPPING  FROM  THE  COMB 170 

IN  SWIMMING-TIME 171 

SHE  "DISPLAINS"  IT      .        .        ; 174 

THE  WAY  THE  BABY  SLEPT 175 

THE  JOLLY  MILLER 176 


WITH  THE  CURRENT    ..•.-.....  iyg 

A  SLEEPING  BEAUTY 180 

AT  AUNTY'S  HOUSE  .......       t        •  i8a 

THE  WHITHERAWAYS    ..  184 

ENVOY  »       ...       „       .».„...  185 


For  reprint  here  of  many  poems  especial  thanks  are  due  the  court- 
esy of  magazines— THE  CENTURY,  HARPER'S  MONTHLY, 
ST.  NICHOLAS,  WIDE  AWAKE  and  THE  BOOK  BUYER. 


RHYMES 
OF  CHILDHOOD 


THE  RIDER  OF  THE  KNEE. 


J^NIGHTL  Y  Rider  of  the  Knee 

Of  Proud-prancing  Under y! 
Gaily  mount,  and  wave  the  sign 
Of  that  mastery  of  thine. 


Pat  thy  steed  and  turn  him  free, 
Knightly  Rider  of  the  Knee  ! 
Sit  thy  charger  as  a  throne — 
Lash  him  with  thy  laugh  alone: 

Sting  him  only  with  the  spur 
Of  such  wit  as  may  occur ', 
Knightly  Rider  of  the  Knee, 
In  thy  shriek  of  ecstasy. 

Would,  as  now,  we  might  endure, 
Twain  as  one — thou  minature 
Ruler,  at  the  rein  of  me — 
Knightly  Rider  of  the  Knee! 


THE  RAGGEDY  MAN. 

OTIIE  RAGGEDY  MAN !     He  works  fer  Pa  ; 
An'  he's  the  goodest  man  ever  you  saw ! 
He  comes  to  our  house  every  day, 
An'  waters  the  horses,  an'  feeds  'em  hay ; 
An'  he  opens  the  shed — an'  we  all  ist  laugh 
When  he  drives  out  our  little  old  wobble-ly  calf; 
An'  nen — ef  our  hired  girl  says  he  can — 
He  milks  the  cow  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann. — 
Aint  he  a'  awful  good  Raggedy  Man? 
Raggedy !  Raggedy !  Raggedy  Man ! 

W'y,  The  Raggedy  Man — he's  ist  so  good 
He  splits  the  kindlin'  an'  chops  the  wood ; 
An'  nen  he  spades  in  our  garden,  too, 
An'  does  most  things  'at  boys  can't  do. — 
He  clumbed  clean  up  in  our  big  tree 
An'  shooked  a'  apple  down  fer  me — 
An'  nother'n',  too,  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann — 
An'  nother'n',  too,  fer  The  Raggedy  Man. — 
Aint  he  a'  awful  kind  Raggedy  Man? 
Raggedy !  Raggedy !  Raggedy  Man ! 


THE  RA  G  GED  Y  MAN. 


An'  The  Raggedy  Man,  he  knows  most  rhymes 
An'  tells  'em,  ef  I  be  good,  sometimes  : 
Knows  'bout  Giunts,  an'  Griffuns,  an'  Elves, 
An'  the  Squidgicum-Squees  'at  swallers  therselves! 
An',  wite  by  the  pump  in  our  pasture-lot, 
He  showed  me  the  hole  'at  the  Wunks  is  got, 
'At  lives  'way  deep  in  the  ground,  an'  can 
Turn  into  me,  er'Lizabuth  Ann! 

Aint  he  a  funny  old  Raggedy  Man  ? 
Raggedy!  Raggedy!  Raggedy  Man! 

The  Raggedy  Man — one  time  when  he 
Was  makin'  a  little  bow'-n'-orry  fer  me, 
Says  " When  yoii're  big  like  your  Pa  is, 
Air  you  go'  to  keep  a  fine  store  like  his — 
An'  be  a  rich  merchunt — an'  wear  fine  clothes  ? — 
Er  what  air  you  go'  to  be,  goodness  knows!" 
An'  nen  he  laughed  at  'Lizabuth  Ann, 
An'  I  says  "'M  go'  to  be  a  Raggedy  Man! — 
I'm  ist  go'  to  be  a  nice  Raggedy  Man!" 
Raggedy!  Raggedy!  Raggedy  Man! 


THE  LITTLE-RED-APPLE  TREE. 


THE  LITTLE-RED-APPLE  TREE. 

THE  Little-red-apple  Tree!— 
O  the  Little-red-apple  Tree ! 
When  I  was  the  little-est  bit  of  a  boy, 

And  you  were  a  boy  with  me ! 
The  bluebird's  flight  from  the  topmost  boughs, 

And  the  boys  up  there — so  high 
That  we  rocked  over  the  roof  of  the  house 
And  whooped  as  the  winds  went  by ! 

Ho !     The  Little-red-apple  Tree ! 

With  the  garden-beds  below, 
And  the  old  grape-arbor  so  welcomely 

Hiding  the  rake  and  hoe  ; 
Hiding,  too,  as  the  sun  dripped  through 

In  spatters  of  wasted  gold, 
Frank  and  Amy  away  from  you 

And  me  in  the  days  of  old. 

The  Little-red-apple  Tree  !— 

In  the  edge  of  the  garden-spot, 

Where  the  apples  fell  so  lavishly 
Into  the  neighbor's  lot ; — 


THE  LITTLE-RED-APPLE  TREE. 


So  do  I  think  of  you, 

Brother  of  mine,'as  the  tree,— 
Giving  the  ripest  wealth  of  your  love 

To  the  world  as  well  as  me. 

The  Little-red-apple  Tree! 

Sweet  as  its  juciest  fruit 
Spanged  on  the  palate  spicily, 

And  rolled  o'er  the  tongue  to  boot, 
Is  the  memory  still  and  the  joy 

Of  the  Little-red-apple  Tree, 
When  I  was  the  little-est  bit  of  a  boy 

And  you  were  a  boy  with  me ! 


A  BOY'S  MOTHER. 


A  BOY'S  MOTHER. 

MY  MOTHER  she's  so  good  to  me, 
Ef  I  was  good  as  I  could  be, 
I  couldn't  be  as  good — no,  sir! — 
Can't  any  boy  be  good  as  her! 

She  loves  me  when  I'm  glad  er  sad ; 
She  loves  me  when  I'm  good  er  bad  ; 
An',  what's  a  funniest  thing,  she  says 
She  loves  me  when  she  punishes. 

I  don't  like  her  to  punish  me. — 
That  don't  hurt, — but  it  hurts  to  see 
Her  cryin'. — Then  /  cry ;  an'   nen 
We  both  cry  an'   be  good  again. 

She  loves  me  when  she  cuts  and  sews 
My  little  cloak  an*    Sund'y  clothes  ; 
An'   when  my  Pa  comes  home  to  tea, 
She  loves  him  most  as  much  as  me. 

She  laughs  an'   tells  him  all  I  said, 
An'   grabs  me  up  an*  pats  my  head; 
An'   I  hug  her,  an'   hug  my  Pa 
An'  love  him  purt'nigh  much  as  Ma. 


THE  PIXY  PEOPLE, 


THE  PIXY  PEOPLE. 

IT  was  just  a  very 
Merry  fairy  dream ! — 
All  the  woods  were  airy 

With  the  gloom  and  gleam  ; 
Crickets  in  the  clover 

Clattered  clear  and  strong, 
And  the  bees  droned  over 
Their  old  honey-song. 

In  the  mossy  passes, 

Saucy  grasshoppers 
Leapt  about  the  grasses 

And  the  thistle-burrs ; 
And  the  whispered  chuckle 

Of  the  katydid 
Shook  the  honeysuckle 

Blossoms  where  he  hid. 

Through  the  breezy  mazes 

Of  the  lazy  June, 
Drowsy  with  the  hazes 

Of  the  dreamy  noon, 
Little  Pixy  people 

Winged  above  the  walk, 
Pouring  from  the  steeple 

Of  a  mullein-stalk. 


THE  PIXY  PEOPLE. 


One — a  gallant  fellow — 

Evidently  King, — 
Wore  a  plume  of  yellow 

In  a  jewelled  ring 
On  a  pansy  bonnet, 

Gold  and  white  and  blue, 
With  the  dew  still  on  it, 

And  the  fragrance,  too. 

One — a  dainty  lady, — • 

Evidently  Queen — 
Wore  a  gown  of  shady 

Moonshine  and  green, 
With  a  lace  of  gleaming 

Starlight  that  sent 
All  the  dewdrops  dreaming 

Everywhere  she  went. 

One  wore  a  waistcoat 

Of  roseleaves,  out  and  in, 
And  one  wore  a  faced-coat 

Of  tiger-lily-skin  ; 
And  one  wore  a  neat  coat 

Of  palest  galingale ; 
And  one  a  tiny  street-coat, 

And  one  a  swallow-tail. 


THE  PIXY  PEOPLE. 


And  Ho !  sang  the  King  of  them, 

And  Hey!  sang  the  Queen  ; 
And  round  and  round  the  ring  of  them 

Went  dancing  o'er  the  green  ; 
And  Hey!  sang  the  Queen  of  them, 

And  Ho !  sang  the  King — 
And  all  that  I  had  seen  of  them 

— Wasn't  anything! 

It  was  just  a  very 

Merry  fairy  dream ! — 
All  the  woods  were  airy 

With  the  gloom  and  gleam  ; 
Crickets  in  the  clover 

Clattered  clear  and  strong, 
And  the  bees  droned  over 

Their  old  honey-song! 


UNCLE  SIDNEY. 


UNCLE  SIDNEY. 

QOMETIMES,  when  I  bin  bad, 
^-}     An'  Pa  "corrects"  me  nen, 
An'  Uncle  Sidney  he  comes  here, 
I'm  alluz  good  again  ; 

'Cause  Uncle  Sidney  says, 

An'  takes  me  up  an'  smiles, — 

The  goodest  mens  they  is  aint  good 
As  baddest  little  childs  / 


io  PANSIES. 


PANSIES. 


PANSIES!  Pansies!  How  I  love  you,  pansies! 
Jaunty-faced,  laughing-lipped  and  dewy-eyed  with  glee  ; 
Would  my  song  might  blossom  out  in  little  five-leaved  stanzas 

As  delicate  in  fancies 
As  your  beauty  is  to  me ! 


But  my  eyes  shall  smile  on  you,  and  my  hands  enfold  you, 
Pet,  caress,  and  lift  you  to  the  lips  that  love  you  so, 
That,  shut  ever  in  the  years  that  may  mildew  or  mold  you, 
My  fancy  shall  behold  you 
Fair  as  in  the  long  ago. 


WAITIN'  PER   THE  CAT  TO  DIE. 


WAITIN'  PER  THE  CAT  TO  DIE. 

LAWZY  !  don't  I  rickollect 
That-'air  old  swing  in  the  lane! 
Right  and  proper,  I  expect, 

Old  times  carft  come  back  again  ; 
But  I  want  to  state,  ef  they 
Could  come  back,  and  I  could  say 
What  my  pick  ud  be,  'y  jing! 
I'd  say,  Gimme  the  old  swing 
'Nunder  the  old  locus' -trees 
On  the  old  place,  ef  you  please! — 
Danglin'  there  with  half- she t  eye, 
Waitin'  fer  the  cat  to  die! 

I'd  say,  Gimme  the  old  gang 

Of  barefooted,  hungry,  lean, 
Or'n'ry  boys  you  want  to  hang 

When  you're  growed  up  twic't  as  mean! 
The  old  gyarden-patch,  the  old 
Truants,  and  the  stuff  we  stol'd ! 
The  old  stompin'-groun',  where  we 
Wore  the  grass  off,  wild  and  free 
As  the  swoop  of  the  old  swing, 
Where  we  us't  to  climb  and  cling, 
And  twist  roun',  and  fight,  and  lie — 
Waitin'  fer  the  cat  to  die! 


12  WAITIN^  PER  THE   CAT  TO  DIE. 


'Pears  like  I  'most  allus  could 

Swing  the  highest  of  the  crowd — 
Jes  sail  up  there  tel  I  stood 

Downside-up,  and  screech  out  loud,- 
Ketch  my  breath,  and  jes  drap  back 
Fer  to  let  the  old  swing  slack, 
Yit  my  tow-head  dippin'  still 
In  the  green  boughs,  and  the  chill 
Up  my  backbone  taperin'  down, 
With  my  shadder  on  the  groun' 
Slow  and  slower  trailin'  by — 
Waitin'  fer  the  cat  to  die ! 

Now  my  daughter's  little  Jane's 

Got  a  kind  o'  baby-swing 
On  the  porch,  so's  when  it  rains 

She  kin  play  there — little  thing! 
And  I'd  limped  out  t'other  day 
With  my  old  cheer  this-a-way, 
Swingin'  her  and  rockin'  too, 
Thinkin'  how  /  us't  to  do 
At  her  age,  when  suddently, 
"Hey,  Gran'pap!"  she  says  to  me, 
"Why  you  rock  so  slow  ?"....  Says  I, 
"Waitin'  fer  the  cat  to  die!" 


THE  FISHING  PARTY.  13 


THE  FISHING  PARTY. 

WUNST  we  went  a-fishin'— Me 
An'  my  Pa  an'  Ma  all  three, 
When  they  was  a  pic-nic,  'way 
Out  to  Ranch's  Woods,  one  day. 

An'  they  was  a  crick  out  there, 
Where  the  fishes  is,  an'  where 
Little  boys  'taint  big  an'  strong 
Better  have  their  folks  along! 

My  Pa  he  ist  fished  an'  fished! 
An'  my  Ma  she  said  she  wished 
Me  an'  her  was  home  ;  an'  Pa 
Said  he  wished  so  worse'n  Ma. 

Pa  said  ef  you  talk,  er  say 
Anything,  er  sneeze,  er  play, 
Haint  no  fish,  alive  er  dead, 
Ever  go'  to  bite !  he  said. 

Purt'  nigh  dark  in  town  when  we 
Got  back  home  ;  an'  Ma  says  she, 
Now  she'll  have  a  fish  fer  shore ! 
An'  she  buyed  one  at  the  store. 


14  THE  FISHING  PARTY. 


Nen  at  supper,  Pa  he  won't 
Eat  no  fish,  an'  says  he  don't 
Like  'em. — An'  he  pounded  me 
When  I  choked! Ma,  didn't  he  ? 


MOTHER  GOOSE. 


MOTHER  GOOSE. 

DEAR  Mother  Goose!  most  motherly  and  clear 
Of  all  good  mothers  who  have  laps  wherein 

We  children  nestle  safest  from  all  sin, — 
I  cuddle  to  thy  bosom,  with  no  fear 
To  there  confess  that,  though  thy  cap  be  queer, 

And  thy  curls  gimblety,  and  thy  cheeks  thin, 

And  though  the  winkered  mole  upon  thy  chin 
Tickles  thy  very  nose-tip, — still  to  hear 

The  jolly  jingles  of  mine  infancy 
Crooned  by  thee,  makes  mine  eager  arms,  as  now, 

To  twine  about  thy  neck,  full  tenderly 
Drawing  the  dear  old  face  down,  that  thy  brow 

May  dip  into  my  purest  kiss,  and  be 

Crowned  ever  with  the  baby-love  of  me. 


1 6  THE  HAPPY  LITTLE  CRIPPLE, 


THE  HAPPY  LITTLE  CRIPPLE. 

I'M  thist  a  little  crippled  boy,  an'  never  goin'  to  grow 
An'  git  a  great  big  man  at  all ! — 'cause  Aunty  told  me  so. 
When  I  was  thist  a  baby  onc't,  I  failed  out  of  the  bed 
An'  got  "The  Curv'ture  of  the  Spine" — 'at's  what  the  Doctor 

said. 

I  never  had  no  Mother  nen — fer  my  Pa  runned  away 
An'  dass  n't  come  back  here  no  more — 'cause  he  was  drunk 

one  day 
An'  stobbed  a  man  in  thish-ere  town,  an'  could  n't  pay  his 

fine! 
An'  nen  my  Ma  she  died — an'  I  got  "Curv'ture  of  the  Spine!" 

I'm  nine  years  old!  An'  you  can't  guess  how  much  I  weigh,  I 

betS- 
Last  birthday  I  weighed  thirty-three ! — An'  I  weigh  thirty  yet ! 
I'm  awful  little  fer  my  size — I'm  purt'  nigh  littler  'an 
Some  babies  is! — an'  neighbors  all  calls  me  "The  Little  Man!" 
An'  Doc  one  time  he  laughed  an'  said  :     "I  spect,  first  thing 

you  know, 

You'll  have  a  little  spike-tail  coat  an'  travel  with  a  show!" 
An'  nen  I  laughed — till  I  looked  round  an'  Aunty  was  a   cry- 
in'— 

Sometimes  she  acts  like  that,  'cause   I  got  "Curv'ture   of  the 
spine. " 


THE  HAPPY  LITTLE  CRIPPLE.  17 

I  set — while  Aunty's  washin' — on  my  little  long-leg  stool, 

An'  watch  the  little  boys  an'  girls  'a-skippin'  by  to  school; 

An'  I  peck  on  the  winder,  an'  holler  out  an'  say: 

"Who  wants  to  fight  The  Little  Man  'at  dares  you  all  to- 
day?" 

An,  nen  the  boys  climbs  on  the  fence,  an'  little  girls  peeks 
through, 

An'  they  all  says:  "Cause  you're  so  big,  you  think  we're 
'feard  o'  you !" 

An'  nen  they  yell,  an'  shake  their  fist  at  me,  like  I  shake 
mine — 

They're  thist  in  fun,  you  know,  'cause  I  got  "Curvature  of  the 
Spine. " 

At  evening,  when  the  ironin's  done,  an'  Aunty's  fixed  the  fire, 
An'  filled  an'  lit  the  lamp,  an'  trimmed  the  wick  an'  turned   it 

higher, 
An'  fetched  the  wood  all  in  fer  night,  an'  locked   the  kitchen 

door, 
An'  stuffed  the  ole  crack  where  the  wind  blows  in  up   through 

the  floor — 

She  sets  the  kittle  on  the  coals,  an'  biles  an'   makes   the   tea, 
An'  fries  the  liver  an'  the  mush,  an'  cooks  a  egg  fer  me  ; 
An'  sometimes — when  I    cough  so  hard — her  elderberry  wine 
Don't  go  so  bad  fer  little  boys  with  "Curv'ture  of  the  Spine !" 


1 8  THE  HAPPY  LITTLE  CRIPPLE. 

But  Aunty's  all  so  childish-like  on  my  account,  you  see, 

I'm  'most  afeard  she'll  be  took  down — an'   'at's  what   bothers 

me  ! — 

'Cause  ef  my  good  ole  Aunty  ever  would  git  sick  an'  die, 
I  don't  know  what  she'd  do  in    Heaven — till   /  come,   by  an' 

by:- 

Fer  she's  so  ust  to  all  my  ways,  an'  ever'thing,  you  know, 
An'  no  one  there  like  me,  to  nurse  an'  worry  over  so  ! — 
'Cause  all  the  little  childerns  there's  so  straight  an'  strong  an' 

fine, 
They's  nary  angel    'bout    the    place   with  "Curv'ture  of  the 

Spine !" 


NOTE. — The  word  "thist,"  as  used  in  foregoing  lines,  is  an  oc- 
casional childish  pronunciation  evolved  from  the  word  "just" — a 
word  which  in  child  vernacular  has  manifold  supplanters, — such  as 
jus,  jes,  des,  jis,  dis,  jist,  dist,  ist,  &c.  In  "thist,"  as  above,  sound 
"th"  as  in  "the." 


THE  DAYS  GONE  BY.  19 


THE  DAYS  GONE  BY. 

OTHE  days  gone  by!  O  the  days  gone  by! 
The  apples  in  the  orchard,  and  the  pathway   through  the 

rye; 

The  chirrup  of  the  robin,  and  the  whistle  of  the  quail 
As  he  piped  across  the  meadows  sweet  as  any   nightingale; 
When  the  bloom  was  on  the  clover,  and  the  blue  was   in   the 

sky, 
And  my  happy  heart  brimmed  over,  in  the  days  gone  by. 

In  the  days  gone  by,  when  my  naked  feet  were  tripped 
By  the  honey-suckle  tangles  where  the  water-lilies  dipped, 
And  the  ripples  of  the  river  lipped  the  moss  along   the   brink 
Where  the  placid-eyed  and  lazy-footed  cattle  came   to   drink, 
And  the  tilting  snipe  stood  fearless  of  the   truant's  wayward 

cry 
And  the  splashing  of  the  swimmer,  in  the  days  gone  by. 

O  the  days  gone  by !  O  the  days  gone  by ! 
The  music  of  the  laughing  lip,  the  lustre  of  the  eye; 
The  childish  faith  in  fairies,  and  Aladdin's  magic  ring — 
The  simple,  soul-reposing,  glad  belief  in  everything, — 
When  life  was  like  a  story,  holding  neither  sob  nor  sigh, 
In  the  golden  olden  glory  of  the  days  gone  by. 


THE  BOY  LIVES  ON  OUR  FARM. 


THE  BOY  LIVES  ON  OUR  FARM. 

THE  BOY  lives  on  our  Farm, he's  not 
Afeard  o'  horses  none ! 
An'  he  can  make  'em  lope,  er  trot, 

Er  rack,  er  pace,  er  run. 
Sometimes  he  drives  two  horses,  when 

He  comes  to  town  an'  brings 
A  wagon-full  o'  'taters  nen, 

An'  roastin'-ears  an'  things. 

Two  horses  is  "a  team,"  he  says, — 

An'  when  you  drive  er  hitch, 
The  right -un's  a  "near-horse,"  I  guess, 

Er  "oft" — I  don't  know  which. — 
The  Boy  lives  on  our  Farm,  he  told 

Me,  too,  'at  he  can  see, 
By  lookin'  at  their  teeth,  how  old 

A  horse  is,  to  a  T ! 

I'd  be  the  gladdest  boy  alive 

Ef  I  knowed  much  as  that, 
An'  could  stand  up  like  him  an'  drive, 

An'  ist  push  back  my  hat, 
Like  he  comes  skallyhootin'  through 

Our  alley,  with  one  arm 
A-wavin'  Fare-ye-well !  to  you — 

The  Boy  lives  on  our  Farm ! 


THE  ROBINS^  OTHER  NAME.  2l 


THE  ROBINS'  OTHER  NAME. 

IN  the  Orchard-Days,  when  you 
Children  look  like  blossoms,  too; 
Bessie,  with  her  jaunty  ways 
And  trim  poise  of  head  and  face, 
Must  have  looked  superior 
Even  to  the  blossoms, — for 
Little  Winnie  once  averred 
Bessie  looked  just  like  the  bird 
Tilted  on  the  topmost  spray 
Of  the  apple-boughs  in  May, 
With  the  red  breast,  and  the  strong, 
Clear,  sweet  warble  of  his  song. — 
"I  don't  know  their  name,"  Win  said- 

"I  ist  maked  a  name  instead.'' 

So  forever  afterwards 

We  called  robins  "Bessie-birds." 


22  TO  HATTIE—ON  HER  BIRTHDAY. 


TO  HATTIE—ON  HER  BIRTHDAY. 

[Written  in  "A  Child's  Garden  of  Verses."] 

WHEN  your  "Uncle  Jim"  was  younger, 
In  the  days  of  childish  hunger 
For  the  honey  of  such  verses 
As  this  little  book  rehearses 

In  such  sweet  simplicity, — 
Just  the  simple  gift  that  this  is 
Would  have  brimmed  his  heart  with  blisses 
Sweet  as  Hattie's  sweetest  kisses, 
On  her  anniversary. 


THE  LOST  KISS.  23 


THE  LOST  KISS. 

I  PUT  by  the  half-written  poem, 
While  the  pen,  idly  trailed  in  my  hand, 
Writes  on, — "Had  I  words  to  complete  it, 
Who'd  read  it,  or  who'd  understand?" 
But  the  little  bare  feet  on  the  stairway, 

And  the  faint,  smothered  laugh  in  the  hall, 
And  the  eerie-low  lisp  on  the  silence, 
Cry  up  to  me  over  it  all. 

So  I  gather  it  up — where  was  broken 

The  tear-faded  thread  of  my  theme, 
Telling  how,  as  one  night  I  sat  writing, 

A  fairy  broke  in  on  my  dream; 
A  little  inquisitive  fairy — 

My  own  little  girl,  with  the  gold 
Of  the  sun  in  her  hair,  and  the  dewy 

Blue  eyes  of  the  fairies  of  old. 

'Twas  the  clear  little  girl  that  I  scolded — 

"For  was  it  a  moment  like  this," 
I  said,  "when  she  knew  I  was  busy, 

To  come  romping  in  for  a  kiss? — 
Come  rowdying  up  from  her  mother, 

And  clamoring  there  at  my  knee 
For  'One  'it tie  kiss  for  my  dolly, 

And  one  'ittle  uzzer  for  me!'" 


24  THE  LOST  KISS. 

God  pity  the  heart  that  repelled  her, 

And  the  cold  hand  that  turned  her  away ! 
And  take,  from  the  lips  that  denied  her, 

This  answerless  prayer  of  to-day ! 
Take,  Lord,  from  my  memory  forever 

That  pitiful  sob  of  despair, 
And  the  patter  and  trip  of  the  little  bare  feet, 

And  the  one  piercing  cry  on  the  stair ! 

I  put  by  the  half-written  poem, 

While  the  pen,  idly  trailed  in  my  hand, 
Writes  on,  "Had  I  words  to  complete  it, 

Who'd  read  it,  or  who'd  understand?" 
But  the  little  bare  feet  on  the  stairway, 

And  the  faint,  smothered  laugh  in  the  hall, 
And  the  eerie-low  lisp  on  the  silence, 

Cry  up  to  me  over  it  all. 


MABEL.  25 


MABEL. 

SWEET   little  face,  so  full  of  slumber  now- 
Sweet  lips  unlifted  now  with  any  kiss — 
Sweet  dimpled  cheek  and  chin,  and  snowy  brow,- 
What  quietude  is  this? 

O  speak !   Have  you  forgotten,  yesterday, 

How  gladly  you  came  running  to  the  gate 
To  meet  us  in  the  old  familiar  way, 
So  joyous — so  elate — 

So  filled  with  wildest  glee,  yet  so  serene 

With  innocence  of  song  and  childish  chat, 
With  all  the  dear  caresses  in  between — 
Have  you  forgotten  that? 

Have  you  forgotten,  knowing  gentler  charms, 

The  boisterous  love  of  one  you  ran  to  greet 
When  you  last  met,  who  caught  you  in  his  arms 
And  kissed  you,  in  the  street? 

Not  very  many  days  have  passed  since  then, 

And  yet  between  that  kiss  and  him  there  lies 
No  pathway  of  return — unless  again, 
In  streets  of  Paradise, 


26  MABEL. 


Your  eager  feet  come  twinkling  down  the  gold 

Of  some  bright  thoroughfare  ethereal, 
To  meet  and  greet  him  there  just  as  of  old — 
Till  then,  farewell— farewell. 


LITTLE  GIRLY-GIRL.  27 


LITTLE  GIRLY-GIRL. 

LITTLE  Girly-Girl,  of  you 
Still  forever  I  am  dreaming.— 
Laughing  eyes  of  limpid  blue — 

Tresses  glimmering  and  gleaming 
Like  glad  waters,  running  over 
Shelving  shallows,  rimmed  with  clover, 
Trembling  where  the  eddies  whirl, 
Gurgling,  "Little  Girly-Girl!" 

For  your  name  it  came  to  me 

Down  the  brink  of  brooks  that  brought  it 
Out  of  Paradise — and  we— 

Love  and  I — we,  leaning,  caught  it 
From  the  ripples  romping  nigh  us, 
And  the  bubbles  bumping  by  us 

Over  shoals  of  pebbled  pearl, 

Lilting,  "Little  Girly-Girl!" 

That  was  long  and  long  ago, 

But  in  memory  the  tender 
Winds  of  summer-weather  blow, 

And  the  roses  burst  in  splendor; 
And  the  meadow's  grassy  billows 
Break  in  blossoms  round  the  willows 

Where  the  currents  curve  and  curl, 

Calling,  "Little  Girly-Girl !» 


28  THE  R UNA IV A  Y  BOY. 


THE  RUNAWAY  BOY. 

WUNST  I  sassed  my  Pa,  an'   he 
Won't  stand  that,  an'   punished  me,- 
Nen  when  he  was  gone  that  day, 
I  slipped  out  an'   runned  away. 

I  looked  all  my  copper-cents, 
An'  clumbed  over  our  back  fence 
In  the  jimpson-weeds  'at  growed 
Ever'where  all  down  the  road. 

Nen  I  got  out  there,  an'    nen 

I  runned  some — an'    runned  again 

When  I  met  a  man  'at  led 

A  big  cow  'at  shocked  her  head. 

I  went  down  a  long,  long  lane 
Where  was  little  pigs  a-play'n'; 
An'    a  grea'-big  pig  went  "Booh!" 
An'  jumped   up,  an'  skeered  me  too. 

Nen  I  scampered  past,    an'  they 
Was  somebody  hollered  "Hey!" 
An'    I  ist  looked  everywhere, 
An'    they  was  nobody  there. 


THE  R  UNA  WA  Y  BOY.  29 


I  Want  to,  but  I'm  '(raid  to  try 
To  go  back. . . .  An'  by-an'  -by, 
Somepin'  hurts  my  throat  inside — 
An'   I  want  my  Ma — an'   cried. 

Nen  a  grea'-big  girl  come  through 
Where's  a  gate,  an'   telled  me  who 
Am  I?  an'  ef  I  tell  where 
My  home's  at  she'll  show  me  there. 

But  I  couldn't  ist  but  tell 
What's  my  name-,  an'   she  says  well, 
An'   she  tooked  me  up  an'  says 
She  know  where  I  live,  she  guess. 

Nen  she  telled  me  hug  wite  close 
Round  her  neck ! — an'  off  she  goes 
Skippin'  up  the  street !    An'  nen 
Flirty  soon  I'm  home  again. 

An'   my  Ma,  when  she  kissed  me, 
Kissed  the  big  girl  too,  an'    she 
Kissed  me — ef  I  p'omise  shore 
I  won't  run  away  no  more! 


30          TIME  OF  CLEARER  TWITTERINGS. 


TIME  OF  CLEARER  TWITTERINGS. 

i. 

TIME  of  crisp  and  tawny  leaves, 
And  of  tarnished  harvest  sheaves, 
And  of  dusty  grasses — weeds — 
Thistles,  with  their  tufted  seeds 
Voyaging  the  Autumn  breeze 
Like  as  fairy  argosies: 
Time  of  quicker  flash  of  wings, 
And  of  clearer  twitterings 
In  the  grove,  or  deeper  shade 
Of  the  tangled  everglade, — 
Where  the  spotted  water- snake 
Coils  him  in  the  sunniest  brake; 
And  the  bittern,  as  in  fright, 
Darts,  in  sudden,  slanting  flight, 
Southward,  while  the  startled  crane 
Films  his  eyes  in  dreams  again. 

II. 

Down  along  the  dwindled  creek 
We  go  loitering.      We  speak 
Only  with  old  questionings 
Of  the  dear  remembered  things 
Of  the  days  of  long  ago, 
When  the  stream  seemed  thus  and  so 


TIME  OF  CLEARER  TWITTERINGS.         31 

In  our  boyish  eyes: — The  bank 
Greener  then,  through  rank   on  rank 
Of  the  mottled  sycamores, 
Touching  tops  across  the  shores: 
Here,  the  hazel  thicket  stood — 
There,  the  almost  pathless  wood 
Where  the  shellbark  hickory  tree 
Rained  its  wealth  on  you  and  me. 
Autumn !  as  you  loved  us  then, 
Take  us  to  your  heart  again ! 

in. 

Season  halest  of  the  year ! 
How  the  zestful  atmosphere 
Nettles  blood  and  brain,  and  smites 
Into  life  the  old  delights 
We  have  wasted  in  our  youth, 
And  our  graver  years,  forsooth ! 
How  again  the  boyish  heart 
Leaps  to  see  the  chipmunk  start 
From  the  brush   and  sleek  the  sun's 
Very  beauty,  as  he  runs ! 
How  again  a  subtle  hint 
Of  crushed  pennyroyal  or  mint, 
Sends  us  on  our  knees,  as  when 
We  were  truant  boys  of  ten — 
Brown  marauders  of  the  wood, 
Merrier  than  Robin  Hood! 


32          TIME  OF  CLEARER   TWITTERINGS. 


IV. 

Ah !  will  any  minstrel  say, 
In  his  sweetest  roundelay, 
What  is  sweeter,  after  all, 
Than  black  haws,  in  early  Fall — 
Fruit  so  sweet  the  frost  first  sat, 
Dainty-toothed,  and  nibbled  at ! 
And  will  any  poet  sing 
Of  a  lusher,  richer  thing 
Than  a  ripe  Mayapple,  rolled 
Like  a  pulpy  lump  of  gold 
Under  thumb  and  finger-tips, 
And  poured  molten  through  the  lips. 
Go,  ye  bards  of  classic  themes, 
Pipe  your  songs  by  classic  streams ! 
I  would  twang  the  redbird's  wings 
In  the  thicket  while  he  sings ! 


ON  THE  SUNNY  SIDE. 


33 


ON  THE  SUNNY  SIDE. 

HI  and  whoop-hooray,  boys ! 
Sing  a  song  of  cheer ! 
Here's  a  holiday,  boys, 

Lasting  half  a  year ! 
Round  the  world,  and  half  is 

Shadow  we  have  tried; 
Now  we're  where  the  laugh  is, — 
On  the  sunny  side ! 

Pigeons  coo  and  mutter, 

Strutting  high  aloof 
Where  the  sunbeams  flutter 

Through  the  stable  roof. 
Hear  the  chickens  cheep,  boys, 

And  the  hen  with  pride 
Clucking  them  to  sleep,  boys, 

On  the  sunny  side ! 

Hear  the  clacking  guinea; 

Hear  the  cattle  moo; 
Hear  the  horses  whinny, 

Looking  out  at  you! 


34  ON  THE  SUNNY  SIDE. 

On  the  hitching-block,  boys, 
Grandly  satisfied, 

See  the  old  peacock,  boys, 
On  the  sunny  side ! 

Robins  in  the  peach-tree; 

Bluebirds  in  the  pear; 
Blossoms  over  each  tree 

In  the  orchard  there! 
All  the  world's  in  joy,  boys, 

Glad  and  glorified 
As  a  romping  boy,  boys, 

On  the  sunny  side ! 

Where's  a  heart  as  mellow? 

Where's  a  soul  as  free? 
Where  is  any  fellow 

We  would  rather  be? 
Just  ourselves  or  none,  boys, 

World  around  and  wide, 
Laughing  in  the  sun  boys, 

On  the  sunny  side ! 


THE  ALL-GOLDEN.  35 


THE  ALL-GOLDEN. 


THROUGH  every  happy  line  I  sing 
I  feel  the  tonic  of  the  Spring. 
The  day  is  like  an  old-time  face 
That  gleams  across  some  grassy  place— 
An  old-time  face — an  old-time  chum 
Who  rises  from  the  grave  to  come 
And  lure  me  back  along  the  ways 
Of  time's  all-golden  yesterdays. 
Sweet  day !  to  thus  remind  me  of 
The  truant  boy  I  used  to  love — 
To  set,  once  more,  his  finger-tips 
Against  the  blossom  of  his  lips, 
And  pipe  for  me  the  signal  known 
By  none  but  him  and  me  alone ! 

ii. 

I  see,  across  the  school-room  floor 
The  shadow  of  the  open  door, 
And  dancing  dust  and  sunshine  blent 
Slanting  the  way  the  morning  went, 
And  beckoning  my  thoughts  afar 
Where  reeds  and  running  waters  are; 
Where  amber-colored  bayous  glass 


36  THE  ALL-GOLDEN. 

The  half  drowned  weeds  and  wisps  of  grass; 

Where  sprawling  frogs,  in  loveless  key, 

Sing  on  and  on  incessantly. 

Against  the  green  woods  dim  expanse 

The  cat-tail  tilts  its  tufted  lance, 

While  on  its  tip — one  might  declare 

The  white  "snakefeeder"  blossomed  there! 

in. 

I  catch  my  breath,  as  children  do 
In  woodland  swings  when  life  is  new, 
And  all  the  blood  is  warm  as  wine 
And  tingles  with  a  tang  divine. 
My  soul  soars  up  the  atmosphere 
And  sings  aloud  where  God  can  hear; 
And  all  my  being  leans  intent 
To  mark  His  smiling  wonderment. 
O  gracious  dream,  and  gracious  time, 
And  gracious  theme,  and  gracious  rhyme — 
When  buds  of  Spring  begin  to  blow 
In  blossoms  that  we  used  to  know, 
And  lure  us  back  along  the  ways 
Of  time's  all-golden  yesterdays ! 


LONGFELLOW'S  LOVE  FOR  CHILDREN.     37 


LONGFELLOW'S  LOVE  FOR  THE  CHILDREN. 

AWAKE,  he  loved  their  voices, 
And  wove  them  into  his  rhyme; 
And  the  music  of  their  laughter 
Was  with  him  all  the  time. 

Though  he  knew  the  tongues  of  nations, 
And  their  meanings  all  were  dear, 

The  prattle  and  lisp  of  a  little  child 
Was  the  sweetest  for  him  to  hear. 


38  WINTER  FANCIES. 


WINTER  FANCIES. 


w1 


r INTER  without 
And  warmth  within; 
The  winds  may  shout 

And  the  storm  begin; 
The  snows  may  pack 

At  the  window  pane, 
And  the  skies  grow  black, 

And  "the  sun  remain 
Hidden  away 

The  livelong  day — 
But  here — in  here  is  the  warmth  of  May ! 


Swoop  your  spitefullest 
Up  the  flue, 
Wild  Winds— do ! 

What  in  the  world  do  I  care  for  you? 
O   delightfullest 

Weather  of  all, 
Howl  and  squall, 
And  shake  the  trees  till  the  last  leaves  fall ! 


WINTER  FANCIES. 


in. 

The  joy  one  feels, 

In  an  easy  chair, 
Cocking  his  heels 

In  the  dancing  air 

That  wreathes  the  rim  of  a  roaring  stove 
Whose  heat  loves  better  than  hearts  can  love, 
Will  not  permit 

The  coldest  day 

To  drive  away 
The  fire  in  his  blood,  and  the  bliss  of  it ! 

IV. 

Then  blow,  Winds,  blow ! 

And  rave  and  shriek, 
And  snarl   and  snow 

Till  your  breath  grows  weak — 
While  here  in  my  room 

I'm  as  snugly  shut 
As  a  glad  little  worm 

In  the  heart  of  a  nut ! 


40  THE  PR  A  YER  PERFECT. 


THE  PRAYER  PERFECT. 

DEAR  Lord!  kind  Lord! 
Gracious  Lord  !  I  pray 
Thou  wilt  look    on  all  I  love, 

Tenderly  to-day! 
Weed  their  hearts  of  weariness; 

Scatter  every  care 

Down  a  wake  of  angel-wings 

Winnowing  the  air. 

Bring  unto  the  sorrowing 

All  release  from  pain; 
Let  the  lips  of  laughter 

Overflow'  again; 
And  with  all  the  needy 

O  divide,  I  pray, 
This  vast  treasure  of  content 

That  is  mine  to-day ! 


A  MOTHER-SONG.  41 


A  MOTHER-SONG. 

MOTHER,  O  mother!  forever  I  cry  for  you, 
Sing  the  old  song  I  may  never  forget; 
Even  in  slumber  I  murmur  and  sigh  for  you. — 
Mother,  O  mother, 

Sing  low  "Little  brother, 
Sleep,  for  thy  mother  bends  over  thee  yet !" 

Mother,  O  mother!  the  years  are  so  lonely, 

Filled  but  with  weariness,  doubt  and  regret ! 

Can't  you  come  back  to  me — for  to-night  only, 
Mother,  my  mother, 

And  sing,  "Little  brother, 

Sleep,  for  thy  mother  bends  over  thee  yet !" 

Mother,  O  mother!  of  old  I  had  never 

One  wish  denied  me,  nor  trouble  to  fret; 

Now — must  I  cry  out  all  vainly  forever, — 
Mother,  sweet  mother, 

O  sing,  "Little  brother, 

Sleep,  for  thy  mother  bends  over  thee  yet !" 

Mother,  O  mother !  must  longing  and  sorrow 
Leave  me  in  darkness,  with  eyes  ever  wet, 

And  never  the  hope  of  a  meeting  to-morrow? 
Answer  me,  mother, 

And  sing,  "Little  brother, 

Sleep,  for  thy  mother  bends  over  thee  yet !" 


42  IN  THE  NIGHT. 


IN  THE  NIGHT. 

WHEN  it's  night,  and  no  light,  too, 
Wakin'  by  yourself, 
With  the  old  clock  mockin'  you 

On  the  mantle  shelf; 
In  the  dark — so  still  and  black, 

You're  afeard  you'll  hear 

Somepin'  awful  pop  and  crack, — 

"Go  to  sleep,  my  dear!" 

That's  what  Mother  says, — And  t kerfs 

When  we  aint  afeard ! 
Wunder,  when  we  be  big  mens, 

Then  'ul  we  be  skeerd? — 
Some  night  Mother's  goned  away, 

And  ist  us  is  here, 
Will  The  Good  Man  wake  and  say 

"Go  to  sleep  my  dear?" 


THE  FUNNY  LITTLE  FELLOW.  43 


THE  FUNNY  LITTLE  FELLOW. 


a  Funny  Little  Fellow 
Of  the  very  purest   type, 
For  he  had  a  heart  as  mellow 

As  an  apple  over-ripe; 
And  the  brightest  little  twinkle 

When  a  funny  thing  occurred, 
And  the  lightest  little  tinkle 
Of  a  laugh  you  ever  heard  ! 

His  smile  was  like  the  glitter 

Of  the  sun  in  tropic  lands, 
And  his  talk  a  sweeter  twitter 

Than  the  swallow  understands; 
Hear  him  sing  —  and  tell  a  story  — 

Snap  a  joke  —  ignite  a  pun,  — 
'Twas  a  capture  —  rapture  —  glory, 

And  explosion  —  all  in  one! 

Though  he  hadn't  any  money  — 

That  condiment  which  tends 
To  make  a  fellow  "honey" 

For  the  palate  of  his  friends;  — 
Sweet  simples  he  compounded  — 

Sovereign  antidotes  for  sin 
Or  taint,  —  a  faith  unbounded 

That  his  friends  were  genuine. 


44  THE  FUNNY  LITTLE  FELLOW. 

He  was'nt  honored,  may  be — 

For  his  songs  of  praise  were  slim, — 
Yet  I  never  knew  a  baby 

That  wouldn't  crow  for  him; 
I  never  knew  a  mother 

But  urged  a  kindly  claim 
Upon  him  as  a  brother, 

At  the  mention  of  his  name. 

The  sick  have  ceased  their  sighing, 
And  have  even  found  the  grace 

Of  a  smile  when  they  were  dying 
As  they  looked  upon  his  face; 

And  I've  seen  his  eyes  of  laughter 
Melt  in  tears  that  only  ran 

As  though,  swift-dancing  after, 

Came  the  Funny  Little  Man. 

lie  laughed  away  the  sorrow, 

And  he  laughed  away  the  gloom 
We  are  all  so  prone  to  borrow 

From  the  darkness  of  the  tomb; 
And  he  laughed  across  the  ocean 

Of  a  happy  life,  and  passed, 
With  a  laugh  of  glad  emotion, 

Into  Paradise  at  last. 


THE  F  UNN Y  LITTLE  FELL  O IV.  45 

And  I  think  the  Angels  knew  him, 

And  had  gathered  to  await 
His  coming,  and  run  to  him 

Through  the  widely-opened  Gate — 
With  their  faces  gleaming  sunny 

For  his  laughter-loving  sake, 
And  thinking,  "What  a  funny 

Little  Angel  he  will  make!" 


46  UNCLE  SIDNEY'S  VIEWS. 


UNCLE  SIDNEY'S  VIEWS. 

I  HOLD  that  the  true  age  of  wisdom  is  when 
We  are  boys  and  girls,  and  not  women  and  men, — 
When  as  credulous  children  we  know  things  because 
We  believe  them — however  averse  to  the  laws. 
It  is  fait /i,  then,  not  science  and  reason,  I  say, 
That  is  genuine  wisdom. — And  would  that  to-day 
We  as  then,  were  as  wise  and  ineffably  blest 
As  to  live,  love  and  die,  and  trust  God  for  the  rest. 

So  I  simply  deny  the  old  notion,  you  know, 
That  the  wiser  we  get  as  the  older  we  grow ! — 
For  in  youth  all  we  know  we  are  certain  of. — Now 
The  greater  our  knowledge,  the  more  we  allow 
For  skeptical  margin. — And  hence  I  regret 
That  the  world  isn't  flat,  and  the  sun  doesn't  set, 
And  we  may  not  go  creeping  up  home,  when  we  die, 
Through  the  moon,  like  a  round  yellow  hole  in  the  sky. 


WHEN  EARL  Y  MARCH.  47 


WHEN  EARLY  MARCH  SEEMS  MIDDLE  MAY. 

WHEN  country  roads  begin  to  thaw 
In  mottled  spots  of  damp  and  dust,1 
And  fences  by  the  margin  draw 
Along  the  frosty  crust 
Their  graphic  silhouettes,  I  say, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

When  morning-time  is  bright  with  sun 

And  keen  with  wind,  and  both  confuse 

The  dancing,  glancing  eyes  of  one 

With  tears  that  ooze  and  ooze — 
And  nose-tips  weep  as  well  as  they, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

When  suddenly  some  shadow-bird 
Goes  wavering  beneath  the  gaze, 

And  through  the  hedge  the  moan  is  heard 

Of  kine  that  fain  would  graze 
In  grasses  new,  I  smile  and  say, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 


48  WHEN  EARL  Y  MAR  CH. 


When  knotted  horse-tails  are  untied, 

And  teamsters  whistle  here  and  there, 

And  clumsy  mitts  are  laid  aside, 

And  choppers'  hands  are  bare, 
And  chips  are  thick  where  children  play, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

When  through  the  twigs  the  farmer  tramps, 

And  troughs  are  chunked  beneath  the  trees, 

And  fragrant  hints  of  sugar-camps 

Astray  in  every  breeze, 
And  early  March  seems  middle-May, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

When  coughs  are  changed  to  laughs,  and  when 
Our  frowns  melt  into  smiles  of  glee, 

And  all  our  blood  thaws  out  again 

In  streams  of  ecstasy, 
And  poets  wreak  their  roundelay, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 


THE  NINE  LITTLE  GOBLINS.       49 

THE  NINE  LfTTLE  GOBLINS. 

THEY  all  climbed  up  on  a  high  board  fence — 
Nine  little  goblins,  with  green-glass  eyes — 
Nine  little  goblins  that  had  no  sense, 

And  couldn't  tell  coppers  from  cold  mince  pies; 

And  they  all  climbed  up  on  the    fence,    and   sat- 
And  I  asked  them  what  they  were  staring  at. 

And  the  first  one  said,  as  he  scratched  his  head 

With  a  queer  little  arm  that  reached  out  of  his  ear 
And  rasped  its  claws  in  his  hair  so  red — 
"This  is  what  this  little  arm  is  fer!" 

And  he  scratched  and  stared,  and  the  next  one    said, 
"How  on  earth  do  you  scratch  your  head?" 

And  he  laughed  like  the  screech  of  a  rusty  hinge — 
Laughed  and  laughed  till  his  face  grew  black; 
And  when  he  choked,  with  a  final  twinge 

Of  his  stifling  laughter,  he  thumped  his  back 
With  a  fist  that  grew  on  the  end  of  his  tail 
Till  the  breath  came  back  to  his  lips  so  pale. 

And  the  third  little  goblin  leered  round  at  me — 

And  there  were  no  lids  on  his  eyes  at  all — 
And  he  clucked  one  eye,  and  he  says,  says  he, 
"What  is  the  style  of  your  socks  this  fall?" 

And  he  clapped  his  heels — and  I  sighed  to  see 
That  he  had  hands  where  his  feet  should  be. 


THE  NINE  LITTLE  GOBLINS. 


Then  a  bald-faced  goblin,  gray  and  grim, 
Bowed  his  head,  and  I  saw  him  slip 
His  eyebrows  off,  as  I  looked  at  him, 
And  paste  them  over  his  upper  lip; 

And  then  he  moaned  in  remorseful  pain — 
"Would — Ah,    would  I'd  me  brows  again!" 

And  then  the  whole  of  the  goblin  band 

Rocked  on  the  fence-top  to  and  fro, 
And  clung,  in  a  long  row,  hand  in  hand, 

Singing  the  songs  that  they  used  to  know — 

Singing  the  songs  that  their  grandsires  sung 
In  the  goo-goo  days  of  the  goblin-tongue. 

And  ever  they  kept  their  green-glass  eyes 

Fixed  on  me  with  a  stony  stare — 
Till  my  own  grew  glazed  with  a  dread  surmise, 
And  my  hat  whooped  up  on  my  lifted  hair, 
And  I  felt  the  heart  in  my  breast  snap  to, 
As  you've  heard  the  lid  of  a  snuff-box  do. 

And  they  sang  "You're  asleep!    There  is  no  board  fence, 

And  never  a  goblin  with  green-glass  eyes ! — 
'Tis  only  a  vision  the  mind  invents 

After  a  supper  of  cold  mince  pies. — 

And  you're  doomed  to  dream  this  way,"  they  said, — 
"And  you  shcfnt  wake  up  till yoi? re  clean  plum  dead!" 


THE  LITTLE  COAT.  51 


THE  LITTLE  COAT. 

HERE'S  his  ragged  "roundabout". 
Turn  the  pockets  inside  out: 
See;  his  pen-knife,  lost  to  use, 
Rusted  shut  with  apple-juice; 
Here,  with  marbles,  top  and  string, 
Is  his  deadly  "devil-sling," 
With  its  rubber,  limp  at  last 
As  the  sparrows  of  the  past ! 
Beeswax — buckles  —leather  straps — 
Bullets,  and  a  box  of  caps, — 
Not  a  thing  of  all,  I  guess, 
But  betrays  some  waywardness — 
E'en  these  tickets,  blue  and  red, 
For  the  Bible-verses  said  — 
Such  as  this  his  mem'ry  kept— 

"Jesus  wept." 

Here's  a  fishing  hook-and-line, 
Tangled  up  with  wire  and  twine, 
And  dead  angle-worms,  and  some 
Slugs  of  lead  and  chewing  gum, 
Blent  with  scents  that  can  but  come 
From  the  oil  of  rhodium. 
Here —  a  soiled,  yet  dainty  note, 
That  some  little  sweetheart  wrote, 


52  THE  LITTLE  COAT. 


Dotting — "Vine  grows  round  the  stump," 
And — "My  sweetest  sugar  lump !" 
Wrapped  in  this — a  padlock  key 
Where  he's  filed  a  touch-hole — see ! 
And  some  powder  in  a  quill 
Corked  up  with  a  liver  pill; 
And  a  spongy  little  chunk 

Of  "punk." 

Here's  the  little  coat— but  O ! 
Where  is  he  we've  censured  so ! 
Don't  you  hear  us  calling,  dear? 
Back !  come  back,  and  never  fear. — 
You  may  wander  where  you  will, 
Over  orchard,  field  and  hill; 
You  may  kill  the  birds,  or  do 
Anything  that  pleases  you ! 
Ah,  this  empty  coat  of  his! 
Every  tatter  worth  a  kiss; 
Every  stain  as  pure  instead 
As  the  white  stars  overhead: 
And  the  pockets — homes  were  they 
Of  the  little  hands  that  play 
Now  no  more — but,  absent,  thus 

Beckon  us. 


OUR  HIRED  GIRL.  53 


OUR  HIRED  GIRL. 

% 

•i 

OUR  hired  girl,  she's  'Lizabuth  Ann; 
An'   she  can  cook  best  things  to  eat ! 
She  ist  puts  dough  in  our  pie-pan, 

An'   pours  in  somepin'  'at's  good  and  sweet, 
An'  nen  she  salts  it  all  on  top 
With  cinnamon;  an'   ncn  she'll  stop 

An'  stoop  an'   slide  it,  ist  as  slow, 
In  th'old  cook-stove,  so's  'two'nt  slop 
An'  git  all  spilled;  nen  bakes  it,  so 
It's  custard  pie,  first  thing  you  know! 

An'   nen  she'll  say: 
"Clear  out  o'  my  way ! 
They's  time  fer  work,  an'  time  fer  play! — 
Take  yer  dough,  an'   run,  child;  run! 
Er  I  cain't  git  no  cookin'  done !" 

When  our  hired  girl 'tends  like  she's  mad, 
An'  says  folks  got  to  walk  the  chalk 

When  s/ie-s  around,  er  wisht  they  had, 
I  play  out  on  our  porch  an'   talk 

To  th'  Raggedy  Man  'at  mows  our  lawn; 

An'  he  says  "  Whew !"  an'  nen  leans  on 

His  old  crook-scythe,  and  blinks  his  eyes 


OUR  HIRED  GIRL. 


An'   sniffs  all  round  an'   says, — "I  swawn! 

Ef  my  old  nose  don't  tell  me  lies, 

It  'pears  like  I  smell  custard-pies!" 
An'  nen  he'll  say, — 

"  'Clear  out  o'  my  way ! 

They's  time  fer  work   an'  time  fer  play ! 
Take  yer  dough,  an'   run,  Child;  run' 
Er  she  cain't  git  no  cookin'  done!'  " 

Wunst  our  hired  girl,  when  she 

Got  the  supper,  an'  we  all  et, 
An'  it  was  night,  an'   Ma  an'   me 

An'  Pa  went  wher'  the  "Social"  met, — 
An1  nen  when  we  com*  home,  an'  see 
A  light  in  the  kitchen-door,  an'  we 

Heerd  a  maccordeun,   Pa  says  "Lan'- 
O'-Gracious!  who  can  her  beau  be?" 

An'  I  marched  in,  an  '  'Lizabuth  Ann 

Wuz  parchin'  corn  fer  the  Raggedy  Man ! 
Better  say 

"Clear  out  o'  the  way! 

They's  time  fer  work,  an'  time  fer  play! 
Take  the  hint,  an'  run,  Child;  run! 
Er  we  cain't  git  no  courtiri1  done !" 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS.     55 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS. 

7  '"T"*  WAS  a  curious  dream,  good  sooth ! — 
The  dream  of  The  Little  Princess; 

It   seemed  a  dream  yet  a    truth, 

Long  years  ago  in  her  youth. — 
It  came  as  a  dream — no  less 
It  was  not  a  dream,  she  says. 

(She  is  singing  and  saying  things 

Musical  as  the  wile 
Of  the  eerie  quaverings 
That  drip  from  the  grieved  strings 

Of  her  lute. — We  weep  or  smile 

Even  as  she,  meanwhile.) 

In  a  day,  long  dead  and  gone, 

When  her  castle-turrets  threw 

Their  long,  sharp  shadows  on 

The  sward  like  lances, — wan 
And  lone,  she  strayed  into 
Strange  grounds  where  lilies  grew. 

There,  late  in  the  afternoon, 

As  she  sate  in  the  terrace  shade, 

Rav'ling  a  half-spun  tune 

From   a  lute  like  a  wee  new-moon, — 
High  off  was  a  bugle  played, 
And  a  sound  as  of  steeds  that  neighed. 


56     THE  DREAM  OF  THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS. 

And  the  lute  fell  from  her  hands, 

As  her  eyes  raised,  half  in  doubt, 
To  the  arch  of  the  azure  lands 
Where  lo !  with  the  fluttering  strands 
Of  a  rainbow  reined  about 
His  wrist,  rode  a  horseman  out. 

And  the  Little  Princess  was  stirred 

No  less  at  his  steeds  than  him; — 
A  jet-black  span  of  them  gird 
In  advance,  he  bestrode  the  third; 

And  the  troop  of  them  seemed  to  swim 
The  skies  as  the  Seraphim. 

Wingless  they  were,  yet  so 

Upborne  in  their  wondrous  flight — 

As  their  master  bade  them  go, 

They  dwindled  on  high;  or  lo! 

They  curved  from  their  heavenmost  height 
And  swooped  to  her  level  sight. 

And  the  eyes  of  The  Little  Princess 
Grow  O  so  bright  as  the  chants 

Of  the  horseman's  courtliness, — 

Saluting  her  low — Ah,  yes ! 

And  lifting  a  voice  that  haunts 
Her  own  song's  weird  romance. 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS.     57 


For  (she  sings)  at  last  he  swept 

As  near  to  her  as  the  tips 
Of  the  lilies,  that  whitely  slept, 
As  he  leant  o'er  one  and  wept 

And  touched  it  with  his  lips — 

Sweeter  than  honey-drips! 

And  she  keeps  the  lily  yet — 

As  the  horseman  bade,  (she  says) 

As  he  launched,  with  a  wild  curvet, 

His  steeds  toward  the  far  sunset, 
Till  gulfed  in  its  gorgeousness 
And  lost  to  The  Little  Princess: 

But  0,  my  master  sweet! 

He  is  coming  again!  (she  sings) 
My  Prince  of  the  Coursers  fleet, 

With  his  bugle"1*  echoings, 

And  the  breath  of  his  voice  for  the  wings 
Of  the  sandals  of  his  feet!  ^ 


58  THE  LAND  OF  USED-  TO-BE. 


A: 


THE  LAND  OF  USED-TO-BE. 

ND  where's  the   land    of    Used-to-be,    does   little    baby 

wonder? 

Oh,  we  will  clap  a  magic  saddle  over  "Popy's"'  knee, 
And  ride  away  around  the  world,  and  in  and  out  and  under 
The  whole  of  all  the  golden  sunny  Summer-time  and  see! 

Leisurely  and  lazy-like  we'll  jostle  on  our  journey, 

And  let  the  pony  bathe  his  hooves  and  cool  them    in    the 

dew, 

As  he  sidles  down  the  shady  way,  and  lags  along  the  ferny 
And      green      grassy       edges     of    the    lane    we    travel 
through. 

And  then  we'll  canter  on  to  catch  the  bubble  of  the  thistle 
As  it  bumps  among   the  butterflies    and   glimmers   down 
the  sun, 

To  leave  us  laughing     all  content  to  hear  the  robin  whistle 
Or  gu^is  what  Katydid  is  saying  little  Katy's  done. 

And  pausing  here  a  minute,  where  we  hear  the  squirrel  chuck- 
le, 
As  he  darts  from  out    the   underbrush   and    scampers   up 

the  tree, 

We    will  gather  buds  and  locust -blossoms,  leaves   and  honey- 
suckle, 
To  wreathe  around  our  foreheads,  riding  into  Used-to  be: 


THE  LAND  OF  USED-TO-BE.  59 

For  here's  the  very  rim  of  it  that  we  go  swinging  over — 

Don't  you  hear  the  Fairy  bugles,   and  the   tinkle   of    the 
bells, 

And  see  the  baby-bumble-bees  that  tumble  in  the  clover, 

And  dangle  from  the  tilted  pinks  and    tipsy    pimpernels? 

And  don't  you  see  the  merry  faces  of  the  daffodillies, 

And    the    jolly    Johnny-jump-ups,    and    the     butter-cups 
a-glee, 

And  the  low,  lolling  ripples  ring  around  the  water-lilies? — 
All  greeting  us  with  laughter,  to  the  Land  of  Used-to-be! 

And  here  among   the   blossoms   of    the    blooming    vines  and 
grasses, 

With  a  haze  forever  hanging  in  the  sky  forever  blue, 
And  with   a  breeze  from  over  seas  to  kiss  us  as  it  passes, 

We  will  romp  around  forever  as  the  airy  Elfins  do ! 

For  all  the  elves  of  earth  and  air  are  swarm  ing  here  together — 
The  prankish  Puck,  KingOberon,  and  Queen  Titaniatoo; 

And  dear  old  Mother  Goose  herself,  as  sunny  as  the  weather, 
Comes  dancing  down  the  dewy  walks  to  welcome  me  and 
you! 


60  WHO  SANTY-CLAUS  WUZ. 


WHO  SANTY-CLAUS  WUZ. 

JES1  a  little  bit  o'  feller — I  remember  still — 
Ust  to  almost  cry  fer  Christmas,  like  a  youngster  will. 
Fourth  o'  July's  nothin'  to  it ! — New  Year's  ain't  a  smell ! 
Easter-Sunday — Circus-day — jes'  all  dead  in  the  shell  ! 
Lawzy,  though !  at  night,  you  know,  to  set    around    an'     hear 
The  old   folks  work  the  story  off  about  the  sledge  an'  deer, 
An'  "Santy",skootin'  round  the  roof,all  wrapt  in  fur  an'  fuzz — 
Long  afore 

I  knowed  who 

"Santy-Claus"  wuz! 

Ust  to  wait,  an'  set  up  late,  a  week  er  two  ahead; 
Couldn't  hardly  keep  awake,  ner  wouldn't  go  to  bed; 
Kittle  stewin'  on  the  fire,  an'  Mother  settin'  here 
Darnin'  socks,  an'   rockin'  in  the  skreeky  rockin' -cheer; 
Pap  gap',  an'    wonder  where  it  wuz  the  money  went, 
An'   quar'l  with  his  frosted  heels,  an'   spill  his  liniment; 
An'  me  a-dreamin'  sleigh-bells  when  the  clock  'ud  whir  an'  buzz, 
Long  afore 

I  knowed  who 

"Santy-Claus"  wuz! 


WHO  SANTY-CLAUS  WUZ.  61 


Size  the  fire-place  up.  an'   figger  how  "Ole  Santy"  could 
Manage  to  come  down  the  chimbly,  like  they  said   he    would; 
Wisht  'at  I  could  hide  an'  see  him — wunderd  what    he'd  say 
Ef  he  ketched  a  feller  layin'  fer  him  thataway ! 
But  I  bet  on  him,  an'   liked  him,  same  as  ef  he  had 
Turned  to  pat  me  on  the  back  an'  say,  "Look  here,  my  lad, 
Here's  my  pack, —  jes'  he'p  yourse'f,  like  all  good  boysdoes!" 

Long  afore 

I  knowed  who 

"Santy-CIaus"  wuz! 

Wisht  that  yarn  was  true  about  him,  as  it  'peared  to  be — 

Truth  made  out  o'  lies  like  that-un's   good    enough    fer  me ! — 

Wisht  I  still  wuz  so  confidin'  I  could  jes'  go  wild 

Over  hangin'  up  my  stockin's,  like  the  little  child 

Climbin'  in  my  lap  to-night,  an'   beggin'  me  to  tell 

'Bout  them  reindeers,  and  "Old  Santy"  that  she  loves  so   well 

I'm  half  sorry  fer  this  little-girl-sweetheart  of  his — 

Long  afore 

She  knows  who 

"Santy-Claus-"  is! 


62  WHEN  OUR  BABY  DIED. 


WHEN  OUR  BABY  DIED. 

WHEN  our  baby  died — 
My  Ma  she  ist  cried  an'  cried ! 
Yes'n  my  Pa  he  cried  too — 
An'  I  cried — An'  me  an'  you. — 
An'  I  'tended  like  my  doll 
She  cried  too — An'  ever' — all — 
O  ist  everybody  cried 

When  our  baby  died ! 

When  our  baby  died — 
Nen  I  got  to  took  a  ride! 
An'  we  all  ist  rode  an'  rode 
Clean  to  Heav'n  where  baby  goed— 
Mighty  nigh! — An'  nen  Ma  she 
Cried  ag'in — an'  Pa — an'  me. — 
All  but  ist  the  Angels  cried 

When  our  baby  died ! 


CHRISTINE  BRAIBRY. 


CHRISTINE  BRAIBRY. 

THE    BEAUTIFUL    DOLLY   WHO   COMES   FROM 

TENTOLEENA  LAND, 

BRINGING   A    STRANGE   LETTER. 

THE    LETTER. 

THIS  little  Dolly's  name  is  Christine  Braibry.*  She  was 
born  in  Tentoleena  Land,  where  lilies  and  red  roses  grow 
in  the  air,  and  humming-birds  and  butterflies  on  stalks. 

You  must  be  kind  to  Christine,  for  everything  about  her  in 
your  land  will  be  very  strange  to  her.  If  she  seems  to  stare 
in  a  bewildered  way,  and  will  not  answer  when  you  ask  her 
why,  you  must  know  that  she  is  simply  dazed  with  the  wonders 
that  she  sees  on  every  hand.  It  will  doubtless  be  a  long, 
long  while  before  Christine  will  cease  to  marvel  at  The  Sun- 
shine of  your  strange  country;  for  in  Tentoleena  Land  there 
is  never  any  shine  but  Moonshine,  and  sometimes  that  gets  so 
muddied  up  with  shade  it  soils  the  eye-sight  to  gaze  at  it  over- 
much. 

It  will  be  trying,  in  your  land,  for  Christine  to  keep  silent  all 
the  time,  for,  in  your  country,  Dollies  cannot  walk  and  talk 
at  all  perfectly,  because  they  only  think  they  are  dreaming  all 
the  time,  and  they  dare  not  speak  for  fear  their  voices  will 
awaken  them,  and  they  dare  not  move  for  fear  of  falling  out 
of  bed.  So,  you  see,  you  should  be  very  kind  indeed  to  lit- 
tle Christine  Braibry. 

In  Tentoleena  Land  the  Dollies  do  not  sleep  long — they 
*Thc  terminal  of  this  name  is  sounded  short,  as  in  "lovely." 


64  CHRISTINE  BRAIBRY. 

are  always  the  first  ones  up  at  Moon-dawn — for  Moon-dawn  is 
the  Dollies'  morning.  Then  they  go  out  in  the  fragrant 
grasses,  where  the  big,  ripe  dew-drops  grow — much  nicer, 
purer  dew  than  yours  on  earth,  for  in  Tentoleena  Land  they 
gather  it  before  it  has  been  skimmed,  and  all  the  pearly  cream 
that  gathers  on  the  surface  of  the  drops  they  stir  up  with  the 
rest  and  bathe  in  that;  and  this  is  why  the  Dollies  always 
have  such  delicate  complexions.  Then,  when  the  baths  are 
over,  they  dress  themselves,  and  waken  up  their  parents,  and 
dress  them — for  in  Tentoleena  Land  the  parents  are  the 
children.  Is  not  that  odd  ? 

Sometimes  Christine  may  get  used  to  your  strange  land  and 
all  the  wonders  that  she  sees;  and  if  she  ever  does,  and  smiles 
at  you,  and  pulls  your  face  down  close  to  hers  and  kisses  you, 
why,  that  will  be  the  sign  by  which  you'll  know  she's  coming 
to  again  and  wants  to  talk;  and  so  the  first  thing  you  must 
ask  of  her  is  to  sing  this  little  song  she  made  of  Tentoleena 
Land.  Only  the  words  of  it  can  be  given  here — (not  half  the 
beauty  of  the  dainty  song) — for  when  you  hear  it,  in  the  mar- 
velously  faint,  and  low,  and  sweet,  and  tender,  tinkling 
tongue  of  Tentoleena  Land  you  will  indeed  be  glad  that 
the  gracious  fairy  Fortune  ever  sent  you  Christine  Braibry. 

So,  since  all  the  sounds  in  the  melodious  utterance  of  Ten- 
toleena Land  are  so  exquisitely — so  chastely,  rarely  beautiful 
no  earthly  art  may  hope  to  reproduce  them,  you  must,  as  yon 
here  read  the  words,  just  shut  your  eyes  and  fancy  that  you 
hear  little  Christine  Braibry  singing  this  eerie  song  of  hers  : — 


CHRISTINE  BRAIBRY.  65 

CHRISTINE'S  SONG. 

UP  in  Tentoleena  Land — 
Tentoleena !  Tentoleena ! 
All  the  Dollies,  hand  in  hand, 

Mina,  Nainie,  and  Serena, 
Dance  the  Fairy  fancy  dances, 
With  glad  songs  and  starry  glances, 
Lisping  roundelays;  and,  after, 
Bird-like  interludes  of  laughter 
Strewn  and  scattered  o'er  the  lawn 
Their  gilt  sandals  twinkle  on 
Through  light  mists  of  silver  sand — 

Up  in  Tentoleena  Land. 

Up  in  Tentoleena  Land — 

Tentoleena!  Tentoleena! 
Blares  the  eerie  Elfin  band — 

Trumpet,  harp  and  concertina — 
Larkspur  bugle — honeysuckle 
Cornet,  with  a  quickstep  chuckle 
In  its  golden  throat;  and,maybe, 
Lilies-of-the-valley  they  be 
Baby-silver-bells  that  chime 
Musically  all  the  time, 
Tossed  about  from  hand  to  hand — 

Up  in  Tentoleena  Land. 


66  CHRISTINE  BRAIBRY. 

Up  in  Tentoleena  Land — 

Tentoleena!  Tentoleena! 
Dollies  dark,  and  blonde  and  bland — 

Sweet  as  muskrose  or  verbena- 
Sweet  as  moon-blown  daffodillies, 
Or  wave-jostled  water-lilies 
Yearning  to'rd  the  rose-mouths,  ready 
Leaning  o'er  the  river's  eddy, — 
Dance,  and  glancing  fling  to  you, 
Through  these  lines  you  listen  to, 
Kisses  blown  from  lip  and  hand 

Out  of  Tentoleena  Land ! 


THE  SQUIRT  GUN  UNCLE  MAKED  ME.      67 


THE  SQUIRTGUN  UNCLE  MAKED  ME. 

UNCLE  Sidney,  when  he  was  here, 
Maked  me  a  squirtgun  out  o'  some 
Elder-bushes  'at  growed  out  near 
Where  was  the  brickyard — 'way  out  clear 
To  where  the  toll-gate  come! 

So  when  we  walked  back  home  again, 

He  maked  it,  out  in  our  woodhouse  where 
Was  the  old  workbench,  an'  the  old  jack-plane, 
An'  the  old  'pokeshave,  an'  the  tools  ail  lay'n 
1st  like  he  wants  'em  there. 

He  sawed  it  first  with  the  old  hand-saw; 

An'  nen  he  peeled  off  the  bark,  an'  got 
Some  glass  an'  scraped  it;  an'  told  'bout  Pa, 
When  he  was  a  boy  an'  fooled  his  Ma, 
An'  the  whippin'  'at  he  caught. 

Nen  Uncle  Sidney,  he  took  an'  filed 

A'  old   arn  ramrod;  an'  one  o1  the  ends 
He  screwed  fast  into  the  vise;  an'  smiled, 
Thinkin',  he  said,  o'  when  he  was  a  child, 
'Fore  him  an'  Pa  wasmens, 


68      THE  SQUIRT  GUN  UNCLE  MAKED  ME. 

He  punched  out  the  peth,  an'  nen  he  put 

A  plug  in  the  end  with  a  hole  notched   through; 
Nen  took  the  old  drawey-knife  an'  cut 
An'  maked  a  handle  'at  shoved  clean  shut 
But  ist  where  yer  hand  held  to. 

An'  he  wropt  th'uther  end  with  some  string  an' white 

Piece  o'  the  sleeve  of  a'  old  tored  shirt; 
An'  nen  he  showed  me  to  hold  it  tight, 
An'  suck  in  the  water  an'  work  it  right — 
An'  it  'ud  ist  squirt  an'  squirt! 


A  HOME-MADE  FAIRY-TALE.  69 


A  HOME-MADE  FAIRY-TALE. 

BUD,  come  here  to  your  Uncle  a  spell, 
And  I'll  tell  you  something  you  mustn't  tell- 
For  it's  a  secret  and  shore-nuff  true, 
And  maybe  T  oughtn't  to  tell  it  to  you! — 
But  out  in  the  garden,  under  the  shade 
Of  the  apple-trees,  where  we  romped  and  played 
Till  the  moon  was  up,  and  you  thought  I'd  gone 
Fast  asleep. — That  was  all  put  on ! 
For  I  was  a-watchin'  something  queer 
Coin'  on  there  in  the  grass,  my  dear ! 
'Way  down  deep  in  it,  there  I  see 
A  little  dude-Fairy  who  winked  at  me, 
And  snapped  his  ringers,  and  laughed  as  low 
And  fine  as  the  whine  of  a  mus-kee-to ! 
I  kept  still — watchin'  him  closer — and 
I  noticed  a  little  guitar  in  his  hand, 
Which  he  leant  'ginst  a  little  dead  bee — and  laid 
His  cigarette  down  on  a  clean  grass-blade; 
And  then  climbed  up  on  the  shell  of  a  snail — 
Carefully  dusting  his  swallowtail — 
And  pulling  up,  by  a  waxed  web-thread, 
This  little  guitar,  you  remember,  I  said ! 
And  there  he  trinkled  and  trilled  a  tune — 
"My  Love,  so  Fair,  Tans  in  the  Moon !" 


70  A  HOME-MADE  FAIRY-TALE. 


Till  presently,  out  of  the  clover-top 

He  seemed  to  be  singing  to,  came,  k'pop ! 

The  purtiest,  daintiest  Fairy  face 

In  all  this  world,  or  any  place ! 

Then  the  little  ser'nader  waved  his  hand, 

As  much  as  to  say,  "We'll  excuse  you!"  and 

I  heard,  as  I  squinted  my  eyelids  to, 

A  kiss  like  the  drip  of  a  drop  of  dew ! 


THE   YOUTHFUL  PRESS.  71 


THE  YOUTHFUL  PRESS. 

LITTLE  Georgle  Tempers,  he 
Printed  some  fine  cards  for  me; 
But  his  press  had  "J"  for  James — 
By  no  means  the  choice  of  names. — 

Yet  it's  proper,  none  the  less, 
That  his  little  printing-press 
Should  be  taught  that  James  for  "J" 
Always  is  the  better  way. 

For,  if  left  to  its  own  whim, 
Next  time  it  might  call  me  "Jim,"— 
Then  THE  CULTURED  PRESS  would  be 
Shocked  at  such  a  liberty. 

Therefore,  little  presses  all 

Should  be  trained,  while  they  are  small, 

To  develop  taste  in  these 

Truths  that  shape  our  destines. 


72  THAT-AIR   YOUNG-UN. 


THAT-AIR  YOUNG-UN. 

THAT- AIR  young-un  ust  to  set 
By  the  crick  here  day  by  day. — 
Watch  the  swallers  dip  and  wet 
Their  slim  wings  and  skoot  away; 
Watch  these  little  snipes  along 
The  low  banks  tilt  up  and  down 
'Mongst  the  reeds,  and  hear  the  song 
Of  the  bullfrogs  croakin'  roun': 
Ust  to  set  here  in  the  sun 
Watchin'  things,  and  listenun, 
Peared-like,  mostly  to  the  roar 
Of  the  dam  below,  er  to 
That-air  riffle  nigh  the  shore 
Jes'  acrost  from  me  and  you. 
Ust  to  watch  him  from  the  door 
Of  the  mill. — 'Ud  rigg  him  out 
With  a  fishin'-pole  and  line — 
Dig  worms  fer  him — nigh  about 
Jes'  spit  on  his  bait!— but  he 
Never  keered  much,  ?pearantly, 
To  ketch  fish ! — He  druther  fine 
Out  some  sunny  place,  and  set 
Watchin'  things,  with  droopy  head. 
And  "a-listenun,"  he  said  — 
"Kindo'  listenun  above 


THAT-AIR   YOUNG-UN.  73 


The  old  crick  to  what  the  wet 
Warter  was  a-talkin'  of!" 

Jevver  hear  sich  talk  as  that? 

Bothered  Mother  more'n  me 

What  the  child  was  cipher'n  at. — 

Come  home  onc't  and  said  'at  he 

Knowed  what  the  snakefeeders  thought 

When  they  grit  their  wings;  and  knowed 

Turkle-talk,  when  bubbles  riz 

Over  where  the  old  roots  growed 

Where  he  th'owed  them  pets  o'  his — 

Little  turripuns  he  caught 

In  the  County  Ditch  and  packed 

In  his  pockets  days  and  days ! — 

Said  he  knowed  what  goslin's  quacked — 

Could  tell  what  the  killdees  sayes, 

And  grasshoppers,  when  they  lit 

In  the  crick  and  "minnies"  bit 

Off  their  legs. — "But,  blame!"  sayes  he, 

Sorto'  lookin'  clean  above 

Mother's  head  and  on  through  me — 

(And  them  eyes ! — I  see  'em  yet !) — 

"Blame!"  he  says,  "ef  I  kin  see, 

Er  make  out,  jes'  what  the  wet 

Warter  is  a-talkin'  of!" 


74  THAT-AIR   YOUNG-UN. 

Made  me  nervous!     Mother,  though, 
Said  best  not  to  scold  the  child — 
The  Good  Bein'  knowed. — And  so 
We  was  only  riconciled 
When  he'd  be  asleep — And  then, 
Time,  and  time,  and  time  again, 
We've  watched  over  him,  you  know — 
Her  a-sayin'  nothin' — jes' 
Kindo'  smoothin'  back  his  hair, 
And,  all  to  herself,  I  guess, 
Studyin'  up  some  kind  o'  prayer 
She  ain't  tried  yet. — Onc't  she  said, 
Cotin'  Scriptur',  "  'He,'  "  says  she, 
In  a  solemn  whisper,   "  'He 
Givuth  His  beloved  sleep !'  " 
And  jes'  then  I  heerd  the  rain 
Strike  the  shingles,  as  I  turned 
Res'less  to'rds  the  wall  again. 
Pity  strong  men  dast  to  weep ! — 
'Specially  when  up  above 
Thrash!  the  storm  comes  down,  and  you 
Feel  the  midnight  plum  soaked  through 
Heart  and  soul,  and  wunder,  too, 
What  the  warter's  talkin'  of! 


Found  his  hat  way  down  below 
Hinchman's  Ford.      'Ves"  Anders  he 


THAT-AIR   YOUNG-UN.  75 

Rid  and  fetched  it.     Mother  she 
Went  wild  over  that,  you  know — 
Hugged  it!  kissed  it! — Turribul! 
My  hopes  then  was  all  gone  too. . . 
Brung  him  in,  with  both  hands  full 
O'  warter-lilies — 'peared-like  new- 
Bloomed  fer  him— renched  whiter  still 
In  the  clear  rain — mixin'  fine 
And  finer  in  the  noon  sunshine. . . 
Winders  of  the  old  mill  looked 
On  him  where  the  hill-road  crooked 
In  on  through  the  open  gate. . . 
Laid  him  on  the  old  settee 
On  the  porch  there.     Heerd  the  great 
Roarin'  dam  acrost — and  we 
If  eerd  a  crane  cry  in  amongst 
The  sycamores — and  then  a  dove 
Cutterin'  on  the  mill-roof — then 
Heerd  the  crick,  and  thought  again, 
"•Now  what's  it  a-talkin'  of?" 


76  BABY^S  DYING. 


BABY'S  DYING. 

BABY'S  dying, 
Do  not  stir — 

Let  her  spirit  lightly  float 
Through  the  sighing 
Lips  of  her — 

Still  the  murmur  in  the  throat: 
Let  the  moan  of  grief  be  curbed — 
Baby  must  not  be  disturbed ! 

Baby's  dying, 

Do  not  stir — 

Let  her  pure  life  lightly  swim 
Through  the  sighing 
Lips  of  her — 

Out  from  us  and  up  to  HIM — 
Let  her  leave  us  with  that  smile — 
Kiss  and  miss  her  after  while. 


GRANNY'S  COME  TO  OUR  HOUSE.          77 


GRANNY'S  COME  TO  OUR  HOUSE. 


RANNY'S  come  to  our  house  ! 

An'  ho  !   my  lawzy-daisy  ! 
All  the  childern  round  the  place 

Is  ist  a-runnin'  crazy  ! 
Fetched  a  cake  fer  little  Jake, 

An'  fetched  a  pie  fer  Nanny, 
An'  fetched  a  pear  fer  all  the  pack 

'At  runs  to  kiss  their  Granny! 

Lucy  Ellen's  in  her  lap, 

An'  Wade,  an'  Silas  Walker, 
Both's  a-ridin'  on  her  foot, 

An'  Polios  on  the  rocker; 
An'  Marthy's  twins,  from  Aunt  Mai-inn's, 

An'  little  Orphant  Annie, 
All's  a-eatin'  gingerbread 

An'  giggle-un  at  Granny! 

Tells  us  all  the  Fairy  tales 

Ever  thought  er  wundered  — 
An'  'bundance  o'  other  stories  — 

Bet  she  knows  a  himderd  !  — 
Bob's  the  one  fer  "Whittington," 

An'  "Golden  Locks"  fer  Fanny! 
Hear  'em  laugh  an'  clap  their  hands, 

Listenun'  at  Granny  ! 


78          GRANNY'S  COME  TO  OUR  HOUSE. 

"Jack  the  Giunt-Killer"  's  good — 

An'  "Bean-Stalk"  's  another — 
So's  the  one  of  "Cinderell'  " 

And  her  old  godmother;— 
That-un's  best  of  all  the  rest — 

Bestest  one  of  any, — 
Where  the  mices  scampers  home, 

Like  we  runs  to  Granny ! 

Granny's  come  to  our  house ! 

Ho!   my  lawzy -daisy! 
All  the  childern  round  the  place 

Is  ist  a-runnin'  crazy! 
Fetched  a  cake  fer  little  Jake, 

An'  fetched  a  pie  fer  Nanny, 
An'  fetched  a  pear  fer  all  the  pack 

'At  runs  to  kiss  their  Granny! 


THE  BOYS.  79 


THE  BOYS. 

WHERE    are  they? — the    friends   of  my   childhood    en- 
chanted— 

The  clear,  laughing  eyes  looking  back  in  my  own, 
And  the  warm,  chubby  fingers  my  palms  have  so  wanted, 
As  when  we  raced  over 

Pink  pastures  of  clover, 
And  mocked  the  quail's  whir  and  the  bumble-bee's  drone? 

Have  the  breezes  of  time  blown  their  blossomy  faces 
Forever  adrift  down  the  years  that  are  flown? 

Am  I  never  to  see  them  romp  back  to  their  places, 
Where  over  the  meadow, 

In  sunshine  and  shadow, 

The  meadow-larks  trill,  and  the  bumble-bees  drone? 

Where  are  they?  Ah !  dim  in  the  dust  lies  the  clover; 

The  whippoorwill's  call  has  a  sorrowful  tone, 
And  the  dove's — I  have  wept  at  it  over  and  over; — 

I  want  the  glad  lustre 

Of  youth,  and  the  cluster 
Of  faces  asleep  where  the  bumble-bees  drone! 


So  THE  STEPMOTHER. 


THE  STEPMOTHER. 

FIRST  she  come  to  our  house, 
Tommy  run  and  hid; 
And  Emily  and  Bob  and  me 

We  cried  jus'  like  we  did 
When  Mother  died, — and  we  all  said 
'At  we  all  wisht  'at  we  was  dead ! 

And  Nurse  she  couldn't  stop  us, 
And  Pa  he  tried  and  tried, — 

We  sobbed  and  shook  and  wouldn't  look, 
But  only  cried  and   cried; 

And  nen — Someone — we  couldn't  jus' 

Tell  who — was  cryin'  same  as  us ! 

Our  Stepmother !  Yes,  it  was  her, 

Her  arms  around  us  all — 
'Cause  Tom  slid  down  the  bannister 

And  peeked  in  from  the  hall. — 
And  we  all  love  her,  too,  because 
She's  purt'nigh  good  at  Mother  was! 


OLD  MAWS  NURSERY  RHYME.  81 


OLD  MAN'S  NURSERY  RHYME. 


IN  THE  jolly  winters 
Of  the  long-ago, 
It  was  not  so  cold  as  now — 

O!  No!  No! 
Then,  as  I  remember, 
Snowballs  to  eat 
Were  as  good  as  apples  now, 
And  every  bit  as  sweet ! 

II. 

In  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  dead-and-gone, 
Bub  was  warm  as  summer, 

With  his  red  mitts  on, — 
Just  in  his  little  waist- 

And-pants  all  together, 
Who  ever  heard  him  growl 

About  cold  weather? 


82  OLD  MAN'S  NURSER  Y  RHYME. 


in. 

In  the  jolly  winters  of  the  long-ago — 
Was  it  half  so  cold  as  now? 

O!    No!    No! 
Who  caught  his  death  o'  cold, 

Making  prints  of  men 
Flat-backed  in  snow  that  now's 

Twice  as  cold  again? 

IV. 

In  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  dead-and-gone, 
Startin'  out  rabbit-huntin' 

Early  as  the  dawn, — 
Who  ever  froze  his  fingers, 

Ears,  heels,  or  toes, — 
Or'd  a  cared  if  he  had? 

Nobody  knows ! 

v. 
Nights  by  the  kitchen-stove, 

Shellin'  white  and  red 
Corn  in  the  skillet,  and 

Sleepin'  four  abed ! 
Ah !  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  long-ago ! 
We  were  not  as  old  as  now — 

O!  No!  No! 


THE  SONG  OF   YESTERDAY.  83 


THE  SONG  OF  YESTERDAY. 

BUT  yesterday 
I  looked  away 

O'er  happy  lands,  where  sunshine  lay 
In  golden  blots, 
Inlaid  with  spots 
Of  shade  and  wild  forget-me-nots. 

And,  cool  and  sweet, 

My  naked  feet 

Found  dewy  pathways  through  the  wheat; 

And  out  again 

Where,  down  the  lane, 

The  dust  was  dimpled  with  the  rain. 

But  yesterday 

I  heard  the  lay 

Of  summer  birds,  when  I,  as  they 

With  breast  and  wing, 

All  quivering 

With  life  and  love,  could  only  sing. 

My  head  was  leant 

Where,  with  it,  blent 

A  maiden's,  o'er  her  instrument, 

While  all  the  night, 

From  vale  to  height, 

We  filled  with  echoes  of  delight. 


84  THE  SONG  OF    YESTERDA  Y 

And  all  our  dreams 

Were  lit  with  gleams 

Of  that  lost  land  of  reedy  streams, 

Along  whose  brim 

Forever  swim 

Pan's  lilies,  laughing  up  at  him. 

But  yesterday!     .     . 

O  blooms  of  May, 

And  summer  roses — Where-away? 

O  stars  above; 

And  lips  of  love, 

And  all  the  honeyed  sweets  thereof! 

O  lad  and  lass, 

And  orchard-pass, 

And  briered  lane,  and  daisied  grass ! 

O  gleam  and  gloom, 

And  woodland  bloom, 

And  breezy  breaths  of  all  perfume ! — 

No  more  for  me 

Nor  mine  shall  be 

Thy  raptures — save  in  memory, — 

No  more — no  more — 

Till  through  the  Door 

Of  Glory  gleam  the  days  of  yore. 


LITTLE  ORPHANT  ANNIE.  85 


LITTLE  ORPHANT  ANNIE. 

LITTLE  Orphant  Annie's  come  to  our  house  to  stay, 
An'  wash  the  cups  an'  saucers  up,  an'  brush   the   crumbs 

away, 
An'  shoo  the  chickens  off  the  porch,  an'  dust  the  hearth,    an' 

sweep, 
An'  make  the  fire,  an'  bake  the  bread,  an'  earn  her  board-an'- 

keep; 

An'  all  us  other  childern,  when  the  supper  things  is  done, 
We  set  around  the  kitchen  fire  an'  has  the  mostest  fun 
A-list'nin'  to  the  witch-tales  'at  Annie  tells  about, 
An'  the  Gobble-uns  'at  gits  you 
Ef  you 

Don't 

Watch 

Out! 

Onc't  they  was  a  little  boy  wouldn't  say  his  prayers, — 

An'  when  he  went  to  bed  at  night,  away  up  stairs, 

His  Mammy  heered  him   holler,    an'    his  Daddy   heered   him 

bawl, 

An'  when  they  turn't  the  kivvers  down,  he  wasn't  there  at  all! 
An'  they  seeked  him  in  the  rafter-room,    an'    cubby-hole,  an' 

press, 


86  LITTLE  ORPHANT  ANNIE. 

An'  seeked  him  up  the  chimbly-flue,  an'  ever'wheres,  I   guess; 
But  all  they  ever  found  was  thist  his  pants  an'   roundabout: — 
An'  the  Gobble-uns  '11  git  you 
Ef  you 

Don't 

Watch 

Out! 

An'  one  time  a  little  girl  'ud  allus  laugh  an'  grin, 

An'  make  fun  of  everyone,  an'  all  her  blood  an'  kin; 

An'  onc't,  when  they  was  "company,"  an'  ole  folks  was  there, 

She  mocked  'em  an'  shocked  'em,  an'  said  she  didn't  care ! 

An'  thist  as  she  kicked  her  heels,  an'  turn't  to  run  an'  hide, 

They  was  two  great  big  Black  Things  a-standin'  by   her  side, 

An'  they  snatched  her  through  the  ceilin'    ?fore    she    knowed 

what  she's  about ! 
An'  the  Gobble-uns'll  git  you 
Ef  you 

Don't 

Watch 

Out! 

An'  little  Orphant  Annie  says,  when  the  blaze  is  blue, 
An'  the  lamp-wick  sputters,  an'  the  wind  goes  -woo-oo! 
An'  you  hear  the  crickets  quit,  an'  the  moon  is  gray, 
An'  the  lightnin'-bugs  in  dew  is  all  squenched  away, — 
You  better  mind  yer  parents,  an'  yer  teachers  fond  an'  dear, 


LITTLE  ORPHANT  ANNIE.  87 

An'  churish  them  'at  loves  you,  an'  dry  the  orphant's  tear, 
An'  he'p  the  pore  an'  needy  ones  'at  clusters  all  about, 
Er  the  Gobble-uns'll  git  you 
Ef  you 

Don't 

Watch 

Out! 


BABYHOOD. 


BABYHOOD. 

HEIGH-HO!  Babyhood!    Tell  me  where  you  linger ! 
Let's  toddle  home  again,  for  we  have  gone  astray; 
Take  this  eager  hand  of  mine  and  lead  me  by  the  finger 
Back  to  the  lotus-lands  of  the  far-away! 

Turn  back  the  leaves  of  life. — Don't  read  the  story. — 
Let's  find  the  pictures,  and  fancy  all  the  rest; 

We  can  fill  the  written  pages  with  a  brighter  glory 
Than  old  Time,  the  story-teller,  at  his  very  best. 

Turn  to  the  brook  where  the  honeysuckle  tipping 
O'er  its  vase  of  perfume  spills  it  on  the  breeze, 

And  the  bee  and  humming-bird  in  ecstacy  are  sipping 
From  the  fairy-flagons  of  the  blooming  locust  trees. 

Turn  to  the  lane  where  we  used  to  "teeter-totter," 
Printing  little  foot-palms  in  the  mellow  mould — 

Laughing  at  the  lazy  cattle  wading  in  the  water 

Where  the  ripples  dimple  round  the  buttercups  of  gold. 

Where  the  dusky  turtle  lies  basking  on  the  gravel 
Of  the  sunny  sand-bar  in  the  middle  tide, 

And  the  ghostly  dragonfly  pauses  in  his  travel 

To  rest  like  a  blossom  where  the  water-lily  died. 

Heigh-ho!  Babyhood!    Tell  me  where  you  linger ! 

Let's  toddle  home  again,  for  we  have  gone  astray; 
Take  this  eager  hand  of  mine  and  lead  me  by  the  finger 

Back  to  the  lotus-lands  of  the  far-away ! 


M 


MAX  AND  JIM.  89 


MAX  AND  JIM. 


AX  an'  Jim, 
They're  each  uthers' 


Fat  an'  slim 

Little  bruthers. 

Max  is  thin, 

An'  Jim,  the  fac's  is, 
Fat  agin' 

As  little  Max  is! 

Their  Pa  'lowed 

He  don't  know  whuther 
He's  most  proud 

Of  one  er  th'uther! 

Their  Ma  says 

They're  both  so  sweet-'w  !- 
That  she  guess 

She'll  haf  to  eat  'em ! 


90  THE  CIRCUS-DAY  PARADE, 


o 


THE  CIRCUS-DAY  PARADE. 

II  THE  Circus-Day  parade!  How  the  bugles  played  and 

played ! 
And  how  the  glossy   horses   tossed    their    flossy   manes,    and 

neighed, 

As  the  rattle  and  the  rhyme  of  the  tenor-drummer's  time 
Filled  all  the  hungry  hearts  of  us  with  melody  sublime ! 

How  the  grand  band-wagon  shone  with  a  splendor  all  its  own, 
And  glittered  with  a  glory  that  our  dreams  had  never  known ! 
And  how  the  boys  behind,  high  and  low  of  every  kind, 
Marched  in  unconscious  capture,  with  a  rapture  undefined! 

How  the  horsemen,  two  and  two,  with  their  plumes   of  white 

and  blue, 

And  crimson,  gold  and  purple,  nodding  by  at  me   and  you, 
Waved  the  banners  that  they  bore,  as  the  Knights  in   days  of 

yore, 
Till  our  glad  eyes  gleamed  and  glistened  like  the  spangles  that 

they  wore! 

How  the  graceless-graceful  stride  of  the  elephant  was  eyed, 
« And  the  capers  of  the  little  horse  that  cantered  at  his  side ! 
How  the  shambling  camels,  tame  to  the  plaudits  of  their  fame, 
With  listless  eyes  came  silent,  masticating  as  they  came. 


THE  CIRCUS-DAY  PARADE.  91 

How  the  cages  jolted  past,  with  each  wagon  battened  fast, 
And  the  mystery  within  it  only  hinted  of  at  last 
From  the  little  grated  square  in  the  rear,  and  nosing  there 
The  snout  of  some  strange  animal  that  sniffed   the  outer   air ! 

And,  last  of  all,  The  Clown,  making  mirth  for  all  the  town, 
With  his  lips  curved  ever  upward  and  his  eyebrows  ever  down, 
And  his  chief  attention  paid  to  the  little  mule  that  played 
A  tattoo  on  the  dashboard  with  his  heels,  in  the  parade. 

Oh !  the  Circus-Day  parade !  How  the  bugles  played  and  played ! 
And  how   the    glossy   horses    tossed   their   flossy   manes  and 

neighed, 

As  the  rattle  and  the  rhyme  of  the  tenor-drummer's  time 
Filled  all  the  hungry  hearts  of  us  with  melody  sublime! 


92  THE  OLD  HAY-MOW. 


THE  OLD  HAY-MOW. 

THE  Old  Hay-mow's  the  place  to  play 
Fer  boys,  when  it's  a  rainy  day! 
I  good-'eal  ruther  be  up  there 
Than  down  in  town,  er  anywhere ! 

When  I  play  in  our  stable-loft, 
The  good  old  hay's  so  dry  an'    soft, 
An'    feels  so  fine,  an'   smells  so  sweet, 
I  'most  ferget  to  go  an'   eat. 

An'    one  time  onc't  I  did  ferget 

To  go  'tel  dinner  was  all  et, — 

An'   they  had  short-cake — an' — Bud  he 

Hogged  up  the  piece  Ma  saved  fer  me! 

Nen  I  wo'nt  let  him  play  no  more 
In  our  hay-mow  where  I  keep  store 
An'   got  hen-eggs  to  sell, — an'   shoo 
The  cackle-un  old  hen  out,  too ! 

An'   nen,  when  Aunty  she  was  here 
A-visitun  from  Rensselaer, 
An'   bringed  my  little  cousin, — he 
Can  come  up  there  an'  play  with  me. 


THE  OLD  HAY-MOW.  93 

But,  after  while — when  Bud  he  bets 
'At  I  can't  turn  no  summersetts, 
I  let  him  come  up,  ef  he  can 
Ac'  ha'f-way  like  a  gentleman! 


94  JOHN  TARKINGTON  JAMESON. 


JOHN  TARKINGTON  JAMESON. 

JOHN  JAMESON,  my  jo  John! 
Ye're  bonnie  wee  an'  sma'; 
Your  ee*s  the  morning  violet, 
Wi'  tremblin'  dew  an'  a'; 
Your  smile's  the  gowden  simmer-sheen, 

Wi'  glintin'  pearls  aglow 
Atween  the  posies  o'  your  lips, 
John  Jameson,  my  jo ! 

Ye  hae  the  faither's  braidth  o1  brow, 

An'  synes  his  look  benign 
Whiles  he  hings  musin'  ower  the  burne, 

Wi'  leestless  hook  an'  line; 
Ye  hae  the  mither's  mou'  an'  cheek, 

An'  denty  chin — but  O  ! 
It's  maist  ye're  like  your  ain  braw  sel', 

John  Jameson,  my  jo ! 

John  Jameson,  my  jo  John, 

Though,  wi'  sic  luvers  twain, 
Ye  dance  far  yont  your  whustlin'  frien' 

Wha  laggart  walks  his  lane, — 
Be  mindet,  though  he  naps  his  last 

Whaur  kirkyird  thistles  grow, 
His  ghaist  shall  caper  on  wi'  you, 

John  Jameson,  my  jo ! 


DWAINIE.  95 


DWAINIE— A  SPRITE  SONG. 

ODwainie !  My  Dwainie ! 
The  Lurloo  ever  sings, 
A  tremor  in  his  flossy  crest 

And  in  his  glossy  wings: 

And  Dwainie !  My  Dwainie ! 

The  Winnowelvers  call; 

But  Dwainie  hides  in  Spirkland 

And  answers  not  at  all. 

The  Teeper  twitters  Dwainie — 

The  Tcheucker,  on  his  spray, 
Teeters  up  and  down  the  wind 

And  will  not  fly  away; 
And  Dwainie !  My  Dwainie ! 

The  drowsy  Covers  drawl; 
But  Dwainie  hides  in  Spirkland 

And  answers  not  at  all. 

O  Dwainie!  My  Dwainie! 

The  breezes  hold  their  breath — 
The  stars  are  pale  as  blossoms, 

And  the  night  as  still  as  death; 
And  Dwainie !  My  Dwainie ! 

The  fainting  echoes  fall; 
But  Dwainie  hides  in  Spirkland 

And  answers  not  at  all. 


96  GUINEYPIGS. 


GUINEYPIGS. 


UINEYPIGS  is  awful  cute, 

ith  their  little  trimbly  snoot 
Sniffin'  at  the  pussly  that 
We  bring  'em  to  nibble  at. 

Looks  like  they're  so  clean  an'  white, 
An'  so  dainty  an'  polite, 
They  could  eat  like  you  an'   me 
When  they's  company! 

Tiltin'  down  the  clover-tops 
Till  they  spill,  an'  over  drops 
The  sweet  morning  dew  —  Don't  you 
Think  they  might  have  napkins,  too? 
Ef  a  guineypig  was  big 
As  a  shore-at?  -certain  pig, 
Nen  he  wouldn't  ac'  so  fine 
When  he  come  to  dine. 

Nen  he'd  chomp  his  jaws  an'  eat 

Things  out  in  the  dirty  street, 

Dirt  an'  all  !     An'  nen  lay  down 

In  mudholes  an'  waller  roun'  ! 
So  the  guineypigs  is  best, 
'Cause  they're  nice  an'  tidiest; 
They  eat  'most  like  you  an'  me 
When  they's  company  ! 


BUSCH  AND   TOMMY,  97 


BUSCH  AND  TOMMY. 

LITTLE  BUSCH  and  Tommy  Hays- 
Small  the  theme,  but  large  the  praise,- 

For  two  braver  brothers, 
Of  such  toddling  years  and  size, 
Bloom  of  face,  and  blue  of  eyes, 
Never  trampled  soldier-wise 

On  the  rights  of  mothers! 

Even  boldly  facing  their 
Therapeutic  father's  air 

Of  complex  abstraction, 
But  to  kindle — kindlier  gaze, 
Wake  more  smiles  and  gracious  ways — 
Ay,  nor  find  in  all  their  days 

Ampler  satisfaction ! 

Hail  ye,  then,  with  chirp  and  cheer. 
All  wan  patients,  waiting  here 

Bitterer  medications ! — 
Busch  and  Tommy,  tone  us,  too. — 
How  our  life-blood  leaps  anew, 
Under  loving  touch  of  you 

And  your  ministrations ! 


98  LITTLE  MAHALA  ASHCRAFT. 


LITTLE  MAHALA  ASHCRAFT. 

4  4  T    ITTLE  H ALY !  Little  Haly !"  cheeps  the  robin  in  the 

1— '     tree; 
"Little  Haly!"  sighs  the   clover;   "Little   Haly!"   moans   the 

bee; 

"Little  Haly!     Little   Haly!"   calls  the  kill-dee   at   twilight; 
And  the  katydids  and  crickets  hollers  "Haly"  all  the  night. 

The  sunflowers  and  the  hollyhawks   droops   over    the   garden 

fence; 
The  old  path  down  the  garden  walks  still  holds  her  footprints' 

dents; 
And  the  well-sweep's  swingin'  bucket  seems  to  wait  fer  her  to 

come 
And  start  it  on  its  wortery  errant  down  the  old  bee-gum. 

The  bee-hives  all  is  quiet,  and  the  little  Jersey  steer, 
When  any  one  comes  nigh  it,  acts  so  lonesome-like  and  queer; 
And  the  little  Banty  chickens  kind  o'  cutters  faint  and  low, 
Like  the  hand  that  now  was  feediri'  'em  was  one   they  didn't 
know. 

They's  sorrow  in  the  wavin'  leaves  of  all  the  apple-trees; 
And  sorrow  in  the  harvest-sheaves,  and  sorrow  in  the   breeze; 
And  sorrow  in  the  twitter  of  the  swallers  'round  the   shed; 
And  all  the  song  her  red-bird  sings  is  "Little  Haly's  dead!" 


LITTLE  MAHALA  ASHCRAFT.  99 

The  medder  'pears  to  miss  her,  and  the  pathway  through    the 

grass, 
Whare  the  dewdrops  ust  to  kiss  her   little  bare   feet   as  she 

passed; 

And  the  old  pin  in  the  gate-post  seems  to  kindo'-sorto'  doubt 
That  Haly's  little  sunburnt  hand'll  ever  pull  it  out. 

Did  her  father  er  her  mother  ever  love  her  more'n  me? 
Er  her  sisters  er  her  brother  prize  her  love  more  tenderly? 
I  question — and  what  answer? — only  tears,  and  tears  alone, 
And  ev'ry  neghbor's  eyes  is  full  o'  tear-drops  as  my  own. 

"Little  Haly!    Little  Haly!"  cheeps  the  robin  in  the  tree; 
"Little  Haly!"  sighs  the  clover;  "Little  Haly!"  moans  the  bee; 
"Little  Haly!  Little  Haly!"  calls  the  kill-dee  at  twilight; 
And  the  katydids  and  crickets  hollers  "Haly"  all  the  night. 


ioo  BABE  HERRICK. 


BABE  HERRICK. 

AS  a  rosebud  might,  in  dreams, 
Mid  some  lilies  lie,  meseems 
Thou,  pink  youngling,  on  the  breast 
Of  thy  mother  slumberest. 


I-, 


THE  LAND  OF   THUS-AND-SO.  101 


THE  LAND  OF  THUS-AND-SO. 


4  4  TJ  O  W  would  Willie  like  to  go 

A!    To  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So? 
Everything  is  proper  there — 
All  the  children  comb  their  hair 
Smoother  than  the  fur  of  cats, 
Or  the  nap  of  high  silk  hats; 
Every  face  is  clean  and  white 
As  a  lily  washed  in  light; 
Never  vaguest  soil  or  speck 
Found  on  forehead,  throat  or  neck — 
Every  little  crimpled  ear, 
In  and  out,  as  pure  and  clear 
As  the  cherry-blossom's  blow 
In  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So. 

"Little  boys  that  never  fall 
Down  the  stairs,  or  cry  at  all — 
Doing  nothing  to  repent, 
Watchful  and  obedient; 
Never  hungry,  nor  in  haste — 
Tidy  shoestrings  always  laced; 
Never  button  rudely  torn 


THE  LAND  OF  THUS-AND-SO. 


From  its  fellows  all  unworn; 
Knickerbockers  always  new — 
Ribbon,  tie,  and  collar,  too; 
Little  watches,  worn  like  men, 
Always  promptly  half-past- 10 — 
Just  precisely  right,  you  know, 
For  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So! 

"And  the  little  babies  there 

Give  no  one  the  slightest  care — 

Nurse  has  not  a  thing  to  do 

But  be  happy  and  sigh  'Boo !' 

While  Mamma  just  nods,  and  knows 

Nothing  but  to  doze  and  doze: 

Never  litter  round  the  grate; 

Never  lunch  or  dinner  late; 

Never  any  household  din 

Peals   without  or  rings  within — 

Baby  coos  nor  laughing  calls 

On  the  stairs  or  through  the  halls — 

Just  Great  Hushes  to  and  fro 

Pace  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So ! 

"Oh!  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So!— 
Isn't  it  delightful,  though?" 
"Yes,"  lisped  Willie,  answering  me 
Somewhat  slow  and  doubtfully — 


THE  LAND  OF  THUS-AND-SO.  103 

"Must  be  awful  nice,  but  I 
Ruther  wait  till  by  and  by 
'Fore  I  go  there — maybe  when 
I  be  dead  I'll  go  there  then. — 
But"— The  troubled  little  face 
Closer  pressed  in  my  embrace — 
"Le's  don't  never  ever  go 
To  the  Land  of  Thus-and-So !" 


104  GRANDFATHER  S 'QUEERS. 


GRANDFATHER  SQUEERS. 


46  IV /I  Y  grandfather  Squeers,"  said  The    Raggedy-Man, 
**1   As  he  solemnly  lighted  his  pipe  .and  began — 


"The  most  indestructable  man,  for  his  years, 

And  the  grandest  on  earth,  was  my  grandfather    Squeers ! 

"lie  said,  when  he  rounded  his  three-score-and-ten, 
'I've  the  hang  of  it  now  and  can  do  it  again !' 

"lie  had  frozen  his  heels  so  repeatedly,  he 

Could  tell  by  them  just  what  the  weather  would  be; 

"And  would  laugh  and  declare,   'while  the  Almanac  would 
Most  falsely  prognosticate,  he  never  could!' 

"Such  a  hale  constitution  had  grandfather  Squeers 
That,  'though  he'd  used  "navy"  for  sixty  odd  years, 

"He  still  chewed  a  dimeV  worth  six  days  of  the  week. 
While  the  seventh  he  passed  with  a  chew  in  each  cheek : 

"Then  my  grandfather  Squeers  had  a  singular  knack 
Of  sitting  around  on  the  small  of  his  back, 


GRANDFATHER  S  QUEERS.  105 


"With  his  legs  like  a  letter  Y  stretched  o'er  the  grate 
Wherein  'twas  his  custom  to  ex-pec-tor-ate. 

"He  was  fond  of  tobacco  in  manifold  ways, 

And  would  sit  on  the  door-step,  of  sunshiney  days, 

9 

"And  smoke  leaf-tobacco  he'd  raised  strictly  for 
The  pipe  he'd  used  all  through  The  Mexican  War." 

And  The  Raggedy  Man  said,  refilling  the  bowl 
Of  his  own  pipe  and  leisurely  picking  a  coal 

From  the  stove  with  his  finger  and  thumb,  "You  can  see 
What  a  tee-nacious  habit  he's  fastened  on  me ! 

"And  my  grandfather  Squeers  took  a  special  delight 
In  pruning  his  corns  every  Saturday  night 

"With  a  horn-handled  razor,  whose  edge  he  excused 
By  saying  'twas  one  that  his  grandfather    used; 

"And,  though  deeply  etched  in  the  haft  of  the  same 
Was  the  ever-euphonious  Wostenholm's  name, 

"'Twas  my  grandfather's  custom  to  boast  of  the  blade 
As  'A  Seth  Thomas  razor — the  best  ever  made!' 


106  GRANDFATHER  SQUEERS. 


"No  Old  Settlers'  Meeting,  or  Pioneers'  Fair, 

Was  complete  without  grandfather  Squeers  in  the  chair, 

"To  lead  off  the  programme  by  telling  folks  how 

'lie  used  to  shoot  deer  where  the  Court  House  stands  now' 

"How  'he  felt, of  a  truth,  to  live  over  the  past, 
When  the  country  was  wild  and  unbroken  and  vast, 

"That  the  little  log  cabin  was  just  plenty  fine 
For  himself,  his  companion,  and  fambly  of  nine ! — 

"When  they  didn't  have  even  a  pump,  or  a  tin, 
But  drunk  surface-water,  year  out  and  year  in, 

"From  the  old-fashioned  gourd  that  was  sweeter,  by  odds, 
Than  the  goblets  of  gold  at  the  lips  of  the  gods!'  " 

Then  The  Raggedy  Man  paused  to  plaintively  say 
It  was  clockin'  along  to'rcls  the  close  of  the  day — 

And  he'd  ought  to  get  back  to  his  work  on  the  lawn, — 
Then  dreamily  blubbered  his  pipe  and  went  on: 

"His  teeth  were  imperfect — my  grandfather  owned 
That  he  couldn't  eat  oysters  unless  they  were  'boned  j1 


GRANDFATHER  S  QUEERS.  ioj 

"And  his  eyes  were  so  weak,  and  so  feeble  of  sight, 
He  couldn't  sleep  with  them  unless,  every  night, 

"lie  put  on  his  spectacles — all  he  possessed, — 
Three  pairs — with  his  goggles  on  top    of  the  rest. 

"And  my  grandfather  always,  retiring  at  night, 
Blew  down  the  lamp-chimney  to  put  out  the  light; 

"Then  he'd  curl  up  on  edge  like  a  shaving,  in  bed, 
And  puff  and  smoke  pipes  in  his  sleep,  it  is  said: 

"And  would  snore  oftentimes,  as  the  legends  relate, 
Till  his  folks  were  wrought  up  to  a  terrible  state, — 

"Then  he'd  snort,  and  rear  up,  and  roll  over;  and  there, 
In  the  subsequent  hush  they  could  hear  him  chew  air. 

"And  so  glaringly  bald  was  the  top  of  his  head 
That  many's  the  time  he  has  musingly  said, 

"As  his  eyes  journeyed  o'er  its  reflex  in  the  glass, — 
'I  must  set  out  a  few  signs  of  Keep  Off  the  Grass!"1 

"So  remarkably  deaf  was  my  grandfather  Squeers 
That  he  had  to  wear  lightning-rods  over  his  ears 

"To  even  hear  thunder — and  oftentimes  then 
lie  was  forced  to  request  it  to  thunder  again." 


io8  THE  LITTLE  TINY  KICKSHAW. 


THE  LITTLE  TINY  KICKSHAW. 

OTHE  little  tiny  kickshaw  that  Hither  sent  tae  me, 
'Tis  sweeter  than  the  sugar-plum  that  reepens  on  the  tree, 
Wi'  denty  flavorin's  o'  spice  an'  musky  rosemarie, 
The  little  tiny  kickshaw  that  Hither  sent  tae  me. 

'Tis  luscious  wi'  the  stalen  tang  o'  fruits  frae  ower  the  sea, 
An'  e'en  its  fragrance  gars  we  laugh  wi'  langin'  lip  an'  ee, 
Till  a'  its  frazen  sheen  o'  white  maun  melten  hinnie  be — 
Sae  weel  I  luve  the  kickshaw  that  Hither  sent  tae  me. 

O  I  luve  the  tiny  kickshaw,  an'  I  smack  my  lips  wi'  glee, 
Aye  mickle  do  I  luve  the  taste  o'  sic  a  luxourie, 
But  maist  I  luve  the  luvein'  han's  that  could  the  giftie  gie 
O'  the  little  tiny  kickshaw  that  Hither  sent  tae  me. 


THE  L  UG  UBRIO  US  WHING-  WHANG.         109 


THE  LUGUBRIOUS  WHING-WHANG. 

THE  rhyme  o'  The  Raggedy  Man's  'at's  best 
Is  Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs,- 
•Cause  that-un's  the  strangest  of  all  o'  the  rest, 
An'   the  worst  to  learn,  an'  the  last  one  guessed, 
An'  the  funniest  one,  an'  the  foolishest. — 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 

I  don't  know  what  in  the  world  it  means — 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! — 
An'  nen  when  I  tell  him  I  don't,  he  leans 
Like  he  was  a-grindin'  on  some  machines 
An'  says:  Ef  I  dorft,  w'y,  I  don't  know  bcans\ 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 

Out  on  the  margin  of  Moonshine  Land, 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 
Out  where  the  Whing- Whang  loves  to  stand, 
Writing  his  name  with  his  tail  in  the  sand, 
And  swiping  it  out  with  his  oogerish  hand; 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 


THE  L  UG  US  RIO  US  WHING-  WHANG. 


Is  it  the  gibber  of  Gungs  or  Keeks? 

Tickle  me,   Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs ! 
Or  what  is  the  sound  that  the  Whing- Whang  seeks?- 
Crouching  low  by  the  winding  creeks, 
And  holding  his  breath  for  weeks  and  weeks! 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs ! 

Aroint  him  the  wraithest  of  wraithly  things ! 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs ! 
'Tis  a  fair  Whing- Whangess,  with  phosphor  rings, 
And  bridal-jewels  of  fangs  and  stings; 
And  she  sits  and  as  sadly   and  softly  sings 
As  the  mildewed  whir  of  her  own  dead  wings, — 

Tickle  me,  Dear, 

Tickle  me  here, 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  me  Lonesome  Ribs! 


LA  WYER  AND  CHILD. 


LAWYER  AND  CHILD. 

HOW  large  was  Alexander,  father, 
That  parties  designate 
The  historic  gentleman  as  rather 
Inordinately  great? 

Why,  son,  to  speak  with  conscientious 

Regard  for  history, 
Waiving  all  claims,  of  course,to  heights  pretentious,- 

About  the  size  of  me. 


112          THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN. 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN. 

OTHE  South  Wind  and  the  Sun ! 
How  each  loved  the  other  one — 
Full  of  fancy— full  of  folly- 
Full  of  jollity  and  fun! 
How  they  romped  and  ran  about, 
Like  two  boys  when  school  is  out, 
With  glowing  face,  and  lisping  lip, 
Low  laugh,  and  lifted  shout ! 

And  the  South  Wind — he  was  dressed 
With  a  ribbon  round  his  breast 

That  floated,  flapped  and  fluttered 
In  a  riotous  unrest; 
And  a  drapery  of  mist, 
From  the  shoulder  and  the  wrist 

Flowing  backward  with  the  motion 
Of  the  waving  hand  he  kissed. 

And  the  Sun  had  on  a  crown 
Wrought  of  gilded  thistledown, 

And  a  scarf  of  velvet  vapor, 

And  a  ravel ed-rainbow  gown; 
And  his  tinsel-tangled  hair, 
Tossed  and  lost  upon  the  air, 

Was  glossier  and  flossier 
Than  any  anywhere. 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND   THE  SUN.         113 

And  the  South  Wind's  eyes  were  two 

Little  dancing  drops  of  dew, 
As  he  puffed  his  cheeks,  and  pursed  his  lips, 

And  blew  and  blew  and  blew ! 

And  the  Sun's — like  diamond-stone, 

Brighter  yet  than  ever  known, 
As  he  knit  his  brows  and  held  his  breath, 

And  shone  and  shone  and  shone ! 

And  this  pair  of  merry  fays 

Wandered  through  the  summer  days; 
Arm-in-arm  they  went  together 

Over  heights  of  morning  haze — 

Over  slanting  slopes  of  lawn 

They  went  on  and  on  and  on, 
Where  the  daisies  looked  like  star-tracks 

Trailing  up  and  down  the  dawn. 

And  where'er  they  found  the  top 

Of  a  wheat-stalk  droop  and  lop, 
They  chucked  it  underneath  the  chin 

And  praised  the  lavish  crop, 

Till  it  lifted  with  the  pride 

Of  the  heads  it  grew  beside, 
And  then  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun 

Went  onward  satisfied. 


114         THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN. 

Over  meadow-lands  they  tripped, 
Where  the  dandelions  dipped 

In  crimson  foam  of  clover-bloom, 

And  dripped  and  dripped  and  dripped ! 
And  they  clinched  the  bumble-stings, 
Gauming  honey  on  their  wings, 

And  bundling  them  in  lily-bells, 
With  maudlin  murmurings. 

And  the  humming-bird,  that  hung 

Like  a  jewel  up  among 
The  tilted  honeysuckle-horns, 

They  mesmerized  and  swung 

In  the  palpitating  air, 

Drowsed  with  odors  strange  and  rare, 
And,  with  whispered  laughter,  slipped  away, 

And  left  him  hanging  there. 

And  they  braided  blades  of  grass 
Where  the  truant  had  to  pass; 

And  they  wriggled  through  the  rushes 
And  the  reeds  of  the  morass, 
Where  they  danced,  in  rapture  sweet, 
O'er  the  leaves  that  laid  a  street 

Of  undulant  mosaic  for 

The  touches  of  their  feet. 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND   THE  SUN.         115 

By  the  brook  with  mossy  brink, 
Where  the  cattle  came  to  drink, 

They  trilled  and  piped  and  whistled 
With  the  thrush  and  bobolink, 
Till  the  kine,  in  listless  pause, 
Switched  their  tails  in  mute  applause, 

With  lifted  heads,  and  dreamy  eyes, 
And  bubble-dripping  jaws. 

And  where  the  melons  grew, 

Streaked  with  yellow,  green  and  blue, 
These  jolly  sprites  went  wandering 

Through  spangled  paths  of  dew; 

And  the  melons,  here  and  there, 

They  made  love  to,  everywhere, 
Turning  their  pink  souls  to  crimson 

With  caresses  fond  and  fair. 

Over  orchard  -walls  they  went, 

Where  the  fruited  boughs  were  bent 
Till  they  brushed  the  sward  beneath  them 

Where  the  shine  and  shadow  blent; 

And  the  great  green  pear  they  shook 

Till  the  sallow  hue  forsook 
Its  features,  and  the  gleam  of  gold 

Laughed  out  in  every  look. 


n6         THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND   THE  SUN. 

And  they  stroked  the  downy  cheek 
Of  the  peach,  and  smoothed  it  sleek, 

And  flushed  it  into  splendor; 

And,  with  many  an  elfish  freak, 
Gave  the  russet's  rust  a  wipe — 
Prankt  the  rambo  with  a  stripe, 

And  the  winesap  blushed  its  reddest 
As  they  spanked  the  pippins  ripe. 

Through  the  woven  ambuscade 
That  the  twining  vines  had  made, 

They  found  the  grapes,  in  clusters, 

Drinking  up  the  shine  and  shade — 
Plumpt,  like  tiny  skins  of  wine, 
With  a  vintage  so  divine 

That  the  tongue  of  Fancy  tingled 
With  the  tang  of  muscadine. 

And  the  golden-banded  bees, 
Droning  o'er  the  flowery  leas, 

They  bridled,  reined,  and  rode  away 
Across   the  fragrant  breeze, 
Till  in  hollow  oak  and  elm 
They  had  groomed  and  stabled  them 

In  waxen  stalls  that  oozed  with  dews 
Of  rose  and  lily-stem. 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND   THE  SUN.         117 


Where  the  dusty  highway  leads, 
High  above  the  wayside  weeds, 

They  sowed  the  air  with  butterflies 
Like  blooming  flower-seeds, 
Till  the  dull  grasshopper  sprung 
Half  a  man's-height  up,  and  hung 

Tranced  in  the  heat,  with  whirring  wings, 
And  sung  and  sung  and  sung! 

And  they  loitered,  hand  in  hand, 
Where  the  snipe  along  the  sand 

Of  the  river  ran  to  meet  them 

As  the  ripple  meets  the  land, 
Till  the  dragonfly,  in  light 
Gauzy  armor,  burnished  bright, 

Came  tilting  down  the  waters 
In  a  wild,  bewildered  flight. 

And  they  heard  the  killdee's  call, 

And  afar,  the  waterfall, 
But  the  rustle  of  a  falling  leaf 

They  heard  above  it  all; 

And  the  trailing  willow  crept 

Deeper  in  the  tide  that  swept 
The  leafy  shallop  to  the  shore, 

And  wept  and  wept  and  wept ! 


ii8         THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN. 


And  the  fairy  vessel  veered 

From  its  moorings — tacked  and  steered 

For  the  center  of  the  current — 
Sailed  away  and  disappeared: 
And  the  burthen  that  it  bore 
From  the  long-enchanted  shore — 

"Alas!  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun!" 
I  murmur  evermore. 

For  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun, 

Each  so  loves  the  other  one, 
For  all  his  jolly  folly, 

And  frivolity  and  fun, 

That  our  love  for  them  they  weigh 

As  their  fickle  fancies  may, 
And  when  at  last  we  love  them  most, 

They  laugh  and  sail  away. 


THE  FUNNIEST  THING.  119 


THE  FUNNIEST  THING  IN  THE  WORLD. 

THE  funniest  thing  in  the  world,  I  know, 
Is  watchin'  the  monkeys  'at's  in  the  show ! — 
Jumpin'  an'  runnin'  an'  racin'  roun', 
'Way  up  the  top  o'  the  pole;  nen  down! 
First  they're  here,  an'  nen  they're  there, 
An'  ist  a'most  any  an'  everywhere! — 
Screechin'  an'  scratchin'  wherever  they  go, 
They're  the  funniest  thing  in  the  world,  I  know! 

They're  the  funniest  thing  in  the  world,  I  think :- 

Funny  to  watch  'em  eat  an'  drink; 

Funny  to  watch  'em  a-watchin'  us, 

An'  actin'  'most  like  grown  folks  does! — 

Funny  to  watch  'em  p'tend  to  be 

Skeerd  at  their  tail  'at  they  happen  to  see; — 

But  the  funniest  thing  in  the  world  they  do 

Is  never  to  laugh,  like  me  an'  you  I 


CRADLE  SONG. 


CRADLE  SONG. 

THE  Maple  strews  the  embers  of  its  leaves 
O'er  the  laggard  swallows  nestled  'neath  the  eaves; 
And  the  moody  cricket  falters  in  his  cry — Baby-bye ! — 
And  the  lid  of  night  is  falling  o'er  the  sky — Baby-bye! — 
The  lid  of  night  is  falling  o'er  the  sky ! 

The  rose  is  lying  pallid,  and  the  cup 
Of  the  frosted  calla-lily  folded  up; 

And  the  breezes  through  the  garden  sob  and  sigh — Baby-bye  !- 

O'er  the  sleeping  blooms  of  summer  where  they  lie — Baby-bye  !- 

O'er  the  sleeping  blooms  of  summer  where  they  lie! 

Yet,  Baby — O  my  Baby,  for  your  sake 
This  heart  of  mine  is  ever  wide  awake, 
And  my  love  may  never  droop  a  drowsy  eye — Baby-bye ! — 
Till  your  own  are  wet  above  me  when  I    die — Baby-bye ! — 
Till  your  own  are  wet  above  me  when  I  die. 


LITTLE  JOHNTS^S  CHRISM  US.  121 


LITTLE  JOHNTS'S  CHRISMUS. 

WE  got  it  up  a-purpose,  jes'  fer  little  Johnts,    you    know; 
His  mother  was  so  pore  an'  all,  an'  had  to  manage  so — 
Jes1  bein'  a  War-widder,  an'  her  pension  mighty  slim,  ' 
She'd  take  in  weavin',  er  work  out,  er  anything  fer  him! 

An'  little  Johnts  was  ptmy-like — but  law,  the  nerve  he  had! — 
You'd  want  to  kindo'  pity  him,  but  couldn't  very  bad — 
Ilis  pants  o'  army-blanket  an'  his  coat  o'  faded  blue 
Kep'  hintin'  of  his  father  like,  an'  pity  wouldn't  do! 

So  we  collogued  together,  onc't,  one  wintertime,  'at  we — 
Jes'  me  an'  Mother   an'    the  girls,  an'   Wilse,  John-Jack  an' 

Free— 
Would    jine   an'   git   up  little  Johnts,  by  time   'at    Chrismus 

come, 
Some  sorto'  doin's,  don't  you  know,    'at   would  su'prise    him 

some. 

An'  so,  all  on  the  quiet,  Mother  she  turns  in  an'  gits 

Some  blue-janes — cuts  an'  makes  a  suit;  an'    then   sets  down 

an'  knits 

A  pair  o'  little  galluses  to  go  'long  with  the  rest — 
An'  puts  in  a  red-flannen  back,  an'  buckle  on  the  vest. — 


122  LITTLE  JOHNT&S  CHRISMUS. 


The  little  feller'd  be'n  so  much  around  our  house,  you  see, 
An'  be'n  sich  he'p  to  her  an'  all,  an'  handy  as  could  be, 
'At  Mother  couldn't  do  too  much  fer  little  Johnts — No,  Sir! — 
She  ust  to  jes'  declare  'at  "he  was  meat-an'-drink  to  her?" 

An'  Piney,  Lide,  an'  Madeline  they  watched  their  chance   an' 

rid 
To  Fountaintown  with  Lijey's  folks;  an'  bought  a  book,  they 

did, 

O'  fairy-tales,  with  pictur's  in;  an'  got  a  little  pair 
O'  red-top  boots  'at  John- Jack  said  he'd  be'n   a-pricen   there. 

An'  Lide  got  him  a  little  sword,  an'  Madaline,  a  drum; 

An'  shootin'-crackers — Lawsy-day !  an'  they're  so  dangersome ! 

An'  Piney,  ever'time  the  rest  'ud  buy  some  other  toy, 

She'd  take  an'  turn  in  then  an'  buy  more  candy  fer    the   boy ! 

"Well,"  thinks-says-I,when  they  got  back, "your  pocketbooks 

is  dry!" — 

But  little  Johnts  was  there  hisse'f  that  afternoon,  so  I — 
Well,  all  of  us  kep'  mighty  mum,  tel  we  got  him  away 
By  tellin'  him  be  shore  an'  come   to-morry — Chrismus  Day — 

An'  fetch  his  mother  'long  with  him !  An'  how  he  scud  acrost 
The  fields — his  tow-head,  in  the  dusk,   jes'  like    a    streak  o' 
frost !— 


LITTLE  JOHNT&S  CHRISM  US.  123 

His  comfert  fluttern  as  he  run — an'  old  Tige,  don't  you  know, 
A-jumpin'  high  fer  rabbits  an'  a-plowin'  up  the  snow ! 

It  must  a-be'n  'most  ten  that  night  afore  we  got  to  bed — • 
With  Wilse  an'    John-Jack  he'ppin'  us;  an'    Freeman  in    the 

shed, 
An'  Lide  out  with  the  lantern  while  he  trimmed  the  Chrismus- 

tree 
Out  of  a  little  scrub-oak-top  'at  suited  to  a  "T !" 

All  night  I  dreamp'    o'   hearin'    things   a-skulkin'   round  the 

place — 
An'  "Ole    Kriss,"   with   his   whiskers  off,  an'  freckles   on  his 

face— 

An'  reindeers,  shaped  like  shavin'-hosses  at    the   cooper-shop, 
A-stickin'  down  the  chimbly,  with  their  heels  out  at  the   top ! 

By  time  'at  Mother  got  me  up  'twas  plum'  daylight  an'  more — 
The  front  yard  full  o'  neighbors  all  a-crowdin'  round  the  door, 
With  Johnts's  mother  leadin';  yes — an'  little  Johnts  hisse'f, 
Set  up  on  Freeman's  shoulder,  like  a  jug  up  on  the  she'f ! 

Of  course  I  can't  describe  it  when  they  all  got  in  to  where 
We'd  conjered  up  the  Chrismus-tree  an'  all  the  fixin's  there ! — 
Fer  all  the  shouts  o'  laughture — clappin'   hands,    an'    crackin' 

jokes, 
Was  heap  o'  kissin'  goin'  on  amongst  the  women-folks: — 


124  LITTLE  JOHNT&S  CHRISM  US. 

Fer,  lo-behold-ye !  there   they    had  that   young-un! — An'  his 

chin 

A-wobblin'-like; — an',  shore  enough,  at  last  he  started  in — 
An' — sich  another  bellerin',  in  all  my  mortal  days, 
I  never  heered,  er  'spect  to  hear,  in  woe's  app'inted  ways! 

An'  Mother  grabs  him  up  an'  says:  "It's  moreVi  he  can  bear — 
It's  all  too  snddent  fer  the  child,  an'  too  su'prisin' ! — There!'1'' 
"Oh,  no  it  ain't" — sobbed  little  Johnts — "I  ain't  su'prised — 

but  I'm 
A-cryin'  'cause  I  watched  you  all,  an'  knowed  it  all  the  time!" 


D  O  WN  AR  O  UND  THE  RI VER.  1 2  5 


DOWN  AROUND  THE  RIVER. 

NOON-TIME  an'  June-time,  down  around  the  river! 
Have  to  furse  with  'Lizey  Ann — butlawzy!!  fergiveher! 
Drives  me  off  the  place,  an'  says  'at  all  'at  she's  a-wishin', 
Land  o'  gracious!  time'll  come  I'll  git  enough  o'  fishin' ! 
Little  Dave,  a-choppin'  wood,  never  'pears  to  notice; 
Don't  know  where  she's  hid  his  hat,  er  keerin'  where  his  coat 

is,— 

Specalatin',  more'n  like,  he  haint  a  goin'  to  mind  me, 
An'  guessin'  where,  say  twelve   o'clock,  a   feller'd  likely  find 

me! 

Noon-time  an'  June-time,  down  around  the  river ! 
Clean  out  o'  sight  o'  home,  an'  skulkin'  under  kivver 
Of  the  sycamores,  jack-oaks,  an'  swamp-ash  an'  ellum — 
Idies  all  so  jumbled  up,  you  kin  hardly  tell  'em ! — 
Tired,  you  know,  but  loviit1  it,  an'  smilin'  jes'  to  think  'at 
Any  sweeter  tiredness  you'd  fairly  want  to  drink  it ! 
Tired  o'  fishin'— tired  o'  fun— line  out  slack  an'  slacker- 
All  you  want  in  all  the  world's  a  little  more  tobacker ! 


1 26  DO  WN  AR O  UND  THE  RIVER. 


Hungry,  but  a-hidin"1  it,  er  jes'  a-not  a-keerin': — 

King-fisher  gittin'  up  an'  skootin'  out  o'  hearin'; 

Snipes  on  the  t'other  side,  where  the  County  Ditch  is, 

Wadin'  up  an'  down  the  aidge  like  they'd  rolled  their  britches ! 

Old  turkle  on  the  root  kindo-sorto  drappin' 

Intoo  th'  worter  like  de  don't  know  how  it  happen ! 

Worter,  shade  an'  all  so  mixed,  don't  know  which  you'd  orter 

Say;  th'  worter  in  the  shadder — shadder  in  the  worter! 

Somebody  hollerin' — 'way  around  the  bend  in 
Upper  Fork — where  yer  eye  kin  jes'  ketch  the  endin' 
Of  the  shiney  wedge  o'  wake  some  muss-rat's  a-makin' 
With  that  pesky  nose  o'  his !     Then  a  sniff  o'  bacon, 
Corn-bread  an'  'dock-greens — an'  little  Dave  a-shinnin' 
'Crost  the  rocks  an'  mussel-shells,  a-limpin'  an'  a-grinnin', 
With  yer  dinner  fer  ye,  an'  a  blessin'  from  the  giver, 
Noon-time  an'  June-time  down  around  the  river ! 


THE  BOYS'  CANDIDATE.  127 


THE  BOYS'  CANDIDATE. 

LAS'  time  'at  Uncle  Sidney  come, 
He  bringed  a  watermelon  home — 

An'  half  the  boys  in  town 
Come  taggin'  after  him. — An'  he 
Says,  when  we  et  it, — '•'•Gracious  me! 
'S  the  boy-house  fell  down?" 


128  THE  BUMBLE-BEE. 


THE  BUMBLE-BEE. 

YOU  better  not  fool  with  a  Bumbee-bee ! — 
Ef  you  don't  think  they  can  sting — you'll  see! 
They're  lazy  to  look  at,  an'  kindo'  go 
Buzzin'  an'  bummin'  aroun'  so  slow, 
An'  ac"  so  slouchy  an'  all  fagged  out, 
Danglin'  their  legs  as  they  drone  about 
The  hollyhawks  'at  they  can't  climb  in  ' 
'Ithout  ist  a-tumble-un  out  agin ! 
Wunst  I  watched  one  climb  clean  'way 
In  a  jim'son-blossom,  I  did,  one  day, — 
An'  I  ist  grabbed  it — an'  nen  let  go — 
An'  "Ooh-ooh!  Honey!  I  told  ye  so!" 
Says  The  Raggedy  Man;  an'  he  ist  run 
An'  pullt  out  the  stinger,  an'  don't  laugh  none, 
An'  says:  "They  has  ben  folks,  I  guess, 
'At  thought  I  wuz  predjudust,  more  er  less, — 
Yit  I  still  muntain  'at  a  Bumble-bee 
Wears  out  his  welcome  too  quick  fer  me !" 


HE  CALLED  HER  IN.  129 


HE  CALLED  HER  IN. 


HE  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door. 
And  she  so  loved  the  sunshine  and  the  sky ! — 
She  loved  them  even  better  yet  than  I 
That  ne'er  knew  dearth  of  them — my  mother  dead, 
Nature  had  nursed  me  in  her  lap  instead: 
And  I  had  grown  a  dark  and  eerie  child 
That  rarely  smiled, 

Save  when,  shut  all  alone  in  grasses  high, 
Looking  straight  up  in  God's  great  lonesome  sky 
And  coaxing  Mother  to  smile  back  on  me. 
'Twas  lying  thus,  this  fair  girl  suddenly 
Came  on  me,  nestled  in  the  fields  beside 
A  pleasant-seeming  home,  with  doorway  wide — 
The  sunshine  beating  in  upon  the  floor 
Like  golden  rain. — 

0  sweet,  sweet  face  above  me,  turn  again 
And  leave  me !  I  had  cried,  but  that  an  ache 
Within  my  throat  so  gripped  it  I  could  make 
No  sound  but  a  thick  sobbing.     Cowering  so, 

1  felt  her  light  hand  laid 

Upon  my  hair — a  touch  that  ne'er  before 
Had  tamed  me  thus,  all  soothed  and  unafraid — 
It  seemed  the  touch  the  children  used  to  know 
When  Christ  was  here,  so  dear  it  was — so  dear, — 


130  HE  CALLED  HER  IN. 

At  once  I  loved  her  as  the  leaves  love  dew 

In  midmost  summer  when  the  days  are  new. 

Barely  an  hour  I  knew  her,  yet  a  curl 

Of  silken  sunshine  did  she  clip  for  me 

Out  of  the  bright  May-morning  of  her  hair, 

And  bound  and  gave  it  to  me  laughingly, 

And  caught  my  hands  and  called  me  "Little  girl," 

Tip-toeing,  as  she  spoke,  to  kiss  me  there! 

And  I  stood  dazed  and  dumb  for  very  stress 

Of  my  great  happiness. 

She  plucked  me  by  the  gown,  nor  saw  how  mean 

The  raiment — drew  me  with  her  everywhere: 

Smothered  her  face  in  tufts  of  grasses  green: 

Put  up  her  dainty  hands  and  peeped  between 

Her  fingers  at  the  blossoms — crooned  and  talked 

To  them  in  strange,  glad  whispers,  as  we  walked,— 

Said  this  one  was  her  angel  mother — this, 

Her  baby-sister — come  back,  for  a  kiss, 

Clean  from  the  Good- World! — smiled  and  kissed  them, 

then 

Closed  her  soft  eyes  and  kissed  them  o'er  again. 
And  so  did  she  beguile  me — so  we  played, — 
She  was  the  dazzling  Shine — I,  the  dark  Shade — 
And  we  did  mingle  like  to  these,  and  thus, 
Together,  made 

The  perfect  summer,  pure  and  glorious. 
So  blent  we,  till  a  harsh  voice  broke  upon 


HE  CALLED  HER  IN.  131 

Our  happiness. — She,  startled  as  a  fawn, 
Cried,  "Oh,  'tis  Father!" — all  the  blossoms  gone 
From  out  her  cheeks  as  those  from  out  her  grasp. — 
Harsher  the  voice  came:—  She  could  only  gasp 
Affrightedly,  "Good-bye! — good-bye!  good-bye!" 
And  lo,  I  stood  alone,  with  that  harsh  cry 
Ringing  a  new  and  unknown  sense  of  shame 
Through  soul  and  frame, 

And,  with  wet  eyes,  repeating  o'er  and  o'er, — 
"He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door!" 

II. 

He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door ! 

And  I  went  wandering  alone  again — 

So  lonely — O  so  very  lonely  then, 

I  thought  no  little  sallow  star,  alone 

In  all  a  world  of  twilight,  e'er  had  known 

Such  utter  loneliness.      But  that  I  wore 

Above  my  heart  that  gleaming  tress  of  hair 

To  lighten  up  the  night  of  my  despair, 

I  think  I  might  have  groped  into  my  grave, 

Nor  cared  to  wave 

The  ferns  above  it  with  a  breath  of  prayer. 

And  how  I  hungered  for  the  sweet,  sweet  face 

That  bent  above  me  in  my  hiding-place 

That  day  amid  the  grasses  there  beside 

Her  pleasant  home! — "Her  pleasant  home!"  I    sighed, 


132  HE  CALLED  HER  IN. 

Remembering; — then  shut  my  teeth  and  feigned 

The  harsh  voice  calling  me, — then  clinched  my  nails 

So  deeply  in  my  palms,  the  sharp  wounds  pained, 

And  tossed  my  face  toward  heaven,  as  one'who  pales 

In  splendid  martyrdom,  with  soul  serene, 

As  near  to  God  as  high  the  guillotine. 

And  I  had  envied  her?     Not  that — O  no ! 

But  I  had  longed  for  some  sweet  haven  so ! — 

Wherein  the  tempest-beaten  heart  might  ride 

Sometimes  at  peaceful  anchor,  and  abide 

Where  those  that  loved  me  touched  me  with  their  hands, 

And  looked  upon  me  with  glad  eyes,  and  slipped 

Smooth  fingers  o'er  my  brow,  and  lulled  the  strands 

Of  my  wild  tresses,  as  they  backward  tipped 

My  yearning  face  and  kissed  it  satisfied. 

Then  bitterly  I  murmured  as  before, — 

"He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door!" 

in. 

He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door ! 
After  long  struggling  with  my  pride  and  pain — 
A  weary  while  it  seemed,  in  which  the  more 
I  held  myself  from  her,  the  greater  fain 
Was  I  to  look  upon  her  face  again; — 
At  last — at  last — half  conscious  where  my  feet 
Were  faring,  I  stood  waist-deep  in  the  sweet 
Green  grasses  there  where  she 


HE  CALLED  HER  IN.  133 


First  came  to  me. — 

The  very  blossoms  she  had  plucked  that  day, 

And,  at  her  father's  voice,  had  cast  away, 

Around  me  lay, 

Still  bright  and  blooming  in  these  eyes  of  mine; 

And  as  I  gathered  each  one  eagerly, 

I  pressed  it  to  my  lips  and  drank  the  wine 

Her  kisses  left  there  for  the  honey-bee. 

Then,  after  I  had  laid  them  with  the  tress 

Of  her  bright  hair  with  lingering  tenderness, 

I,  turning,  crept  on  to  the  hedge  that  bound 

Her  pleasant-seeming  home — but  all  around 

Was  never  sign  of  her ! — The  windows  all 

Were  blinded;  and  I  heard  no  rippling  fall 

Of  her  glad  laugh,  nor  any  harsh  voice  call; — 

But,  clutching  to  the  tangled  grasses,  caught 

A  sound  as  though  a  strong  man  bowed  his  head 

And  sobbed  alone — unloved — uncomforted ! — 

And  then  straightway  before 

My  tearless  eyes,  all  vividly,  was  wrought 

A  vision  that  is  with  me  evermore: — 

A  little  girl  that  lies  asleep,  nor  hears 

Nor  heeds  not  any  voice  nor  fall  of  tears. — 

And  I  sit  singing  o'er  and  o'er  and  o'er, — 

"God  called  her  in  from  him  and  shut  the  door !" 


134  THE  BOY-FRIEND. 


THE  BOY-FRIEND. 


LARENCE,  my  boy-friend,  hale  and  strong! 

O  he  is  as  jolly  as  he  is  young; 
And  all  of  the  laughs  of  the  lyre  belong 
To  the  boy  all  unsung: 

So  I  want  to  sing  something  in  his  behalf — 
To  clang  some  chords,  for  the  good  it  is 

To  know  he  is  near,  and  to  have  the  laugh 
Of  that  wholesome  voice  of  his. 

I  want  to  tell  him  in  gentler  ways 

Than  prose  may  do,  that  the  arms  of  rhyme, 
Warm  and  tender  with  tuneful  praise, 

Are  about  him  all  the  time. 

I  want  him  to  know  that  the  quietest  nights 
We  have  passed  together  are  yet  with  me, 

Roistering  over  the  old  delights 

That  were  born  of  his  company. 

I  want  him  to  know  how  my  soul  esteems 

The  fairy  stories  of  Andersen, 
And  the  glad  translations  of  all  the  themes 

Of  the  hearts  of  boyish  men. 


THE  BOY  FRIEND.  135 

Want  him  to  know  that  my  fancy  flows, 

With  the  lilt  of  a  dear  old-fashioned  tune, 

Through  "Lewis  Carroll's"  poemly  prose, 
And  the  tale  of  "The  Bold  Dragoon." 

O  this  is  the  Prince  that  I  would  sing — 

Would  drape  and  garnish  in  velvet  line, 

Since  courtlier  far  than  any  king 

Is  this  brave  boy-friend  or  mine. 


136     WHEN  THE   WORLD  BURSTS  THROUGH. 

WHEN  THE  WORLD  BU'STS  THROUGH. 
[Casually  Suggested  By  An  Earthquake.] 

WHERE'S  a  boy  a-goin', 
An'  what's  he  goin'  to  do, 
An'  how's  he  goin"  to  do  it, 

When  the  world  bu'sts  through? 
Ma  she  says  "she  can't  tell 

What  we're  comin'  to !" 
An'  Pop  says  "he's  ist  skeered 
Clean — plum'1 — through ! 

S'pose  we'd  be  a-playin' 

Out  in  the  street, 
An'  the  ground  'ud  split  up 

'Bout  forty  feet!  — 
Ma  says  "she  ist  knows 

We  'nd  tumble  in;" 
An'  Pop  says,  "he  bets  you 

Nen  we  wouldn't  grin  !" 

S'pose  we'd  ist  be  'tendin' 

Like  we  had  a  show, 
Down  in  the  stable 

Where  we  mustn'  go, — 
Ma  says,  "the  earthquake 

Might  make  it   fall;" 
An'  Pop  says,  "More'n  like 

Swaller  barn  an'  all !" 


WHEN  THE   WORLD  BURSTS  THROUGH.     137 

Landy !  ef  we  both  wuz 

Runnin'  'way  from  school, 
Out  in  the  shady  woods 

Where  it's  all  so  cool ! — 
Ma  says  "a  big  tree 

Might  sqush  our  head;" 
An'  Pop  says,  "Chop  'em  out 

Both— killed— dead!" 

But  where's  a  boy  'goin', 

An'  what's  he  goin'  to  do, 
An'  how's  he  goin'  to  do  it, 

Ef  the  world  bu'sts  through! — 
Ma  she  says,  "she  can't  tell 

What  we're  goin'  to  do," 
An'  Pop  says,  "He's  ist  skeered 

Clean — plum' — through !" 


138  A  PROSPECTIVE  GLIMPSE. 

A  PROSPECTIVE   GLIMPSE. 

JANEY  Pettibone's  the  best 
Little  girl  an'   purtiest 
In  this  town !  an'  lives  next  door, 
Up  stairs  over  their  old  store. 

Little  Janey  Pettibone 
An'  her  Ma  lives  all  alone, — 
'Cause  her  Pa  broke  up,  an'  nen 
Died  'cause  they  aint  rich  again. 

Little  Janey's  Ma  she  sews 
Fer  my  Ma  sometimes,  an'  goes 
An'  gives  music-lessuns,  where 
People's  got  pianers  there. 

But  when  Janey  Pettibone 

Grows  an'  grows,  like  I'm  a  growin', 

Nen  Pm   go'  to  keep  a  store, 

An'  sell  things — an'  sell  some  more — 

Till  I'm  ist  as  rich!— An'  nen 
Her  Ma  can  be  rich  again, — 
Ef  Pm  rich  enough  to  own 
Little  Janey  Pettibone! 


THE  OLD   TRAMP.  139 


THE  OLD  TRAMP. 

A}  OLD  Tramp  slep'  in  our  stable  wunst, 
An'  The  Raggedy  Man  he  caught 
An'  roust  him  up,  an'  chased  him  off 
Clean  out  through  our  back  lot ! 

An'  th'  old  tramp  hollered  back  an'  said, — 
"You're  a  flirty  man ! —  Yon  air ! — 

With  a  pair  o'  eyes  like  two  fried  eggs, 
An'  a  nose  like  a  Bartlutt    pear !" 


CURLY  LOCKS. 


CURLY  LOCKS. 

CURL  Y  Locks!   Curly  Locks!  wilt  than  be  mine? 
Thou  shalt  not  wash  the  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the  swine, 
But  sit  on  a  cushion  and  sew  a  fine  scam, 
And  feast  upon  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream. 

Curly  Locks !  Curly  Locks !  \vilt  thou  he  mine? 
The  throb  of  my  heart  is  in  every  line, 
And  the  pulse  of  a  passion  as  airy  and  glad 
In  its  musical  beat  as  the  little  Prince  had! 

Thou  shalt  not  wash  the  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the  swine ! — 
O  I'll  dapple  thy  hands  with  these  kisses  of  mine 
Till  the  pink  of  the  nail  of  each  finger  shall  be 
As  a  little  pet  blush  in  full  blossom  for  me. 

But  sit  on  a  cushion  and  sew  a  fine  seam, 
And  thou  shalt  have  fabric  as  fair  as  a  dream, — 
The  red  of  my  veins,  and  the  white  of  my  love, 
And  the  gold  of  my  joy  for  the  braiding  thereof. 

And  feast  upon  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream 
From  a  service  of  silver,  with  jewels  agleam, — 
At  thy  feet  will  I  bide,  at  thy  beck  will  I  rise, 
And  twinkle  my  soul  in  the  night  of  thine  eyes ! 

Curly  Locks!   C7irly  Locks!  wilt  thou  be  mine? 

Thou  shalt  not  wash  the  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the  swine, — 

But  sit  on  a  cushion  and  sew  a  fine  seam, 

And  feast  npo)i  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream. 


THE  PET  COON.  141 


THE  PET  COON. 

NOEY  Bixler  ketched  him,  and  fetched  him  in  to  me 
When  he's  ist  a  little  teenty-weenty  baby-coon 
'Bout  as  big  as  little  pups,  an'  tied  him  to  a  tree; 

An'  Pa  gived  Noey  fifty    cents,    when  he  come  home   at 

noon. 
Nen  he  buyed  a  chain  fer  him,  an'  little  collar,  too, 

An'  sawed  a  hole  in  a'  old  tub  an'  turnt  it   upside   down; 

An'  little  feller'd  stay  in  there  and  wo'nt  come  out  fer   you — • 

'Tendin'  like  he's  kindo'  skeered  o'  boys  'at  lives  in  town. 

Now  he  aint  afeard  a  bit !  he's  ist  so  fat  an'  tame, 

We  on'y  chain  him  up  at  night,  to  save  the    little  chicks. 
Holler  "Greedy!  Greedy!"  to  him,  an'  he  knows  his  name, 

An'  here  he'll  come  a-waddle-un,  up  fer  any  tricks! 
He'll  climb  up  my  leg,  he  will,  an'  waller  in  my  lap, 

An'  poke  his  little  black  paws  'way  in  my  pockets    where 
They's  beechnuts,  er  chinkypins,  er  any  little  scrap 

Of  anything  'at's  good  to  eat — an'  he  don't  care! 

An'  he's  as  spunky  as  you  please,  an'  don't  like  dogs  at    all.— 
Billy  Miller's  black-an'-tan  tackled  him  one  day, 

An'  "Greedy"  he  ist  kindo'  doubled  all  up  like  a  ball, 

An'  Billy's  dog  he  gived  a  yelp  er  two  an'   runned   away ' 


142  THE  PET  COON. 

An'  nen  when  Billy  fighted  me,  an'  hit  me  with  a  bone, 

An'  Ma   she  purt'nigh  ketched    him    as  he    dodged    an' 
skooted  thro' 

The  fence,  she  says,  "You  better  let  my  little  boy  alone, 

Er  <Greedy',  next  he  whips  yer  dog,  shall  whip  you,too !" 


A  NONSENSE  RHYME.  143 


A  NONSENSE  RHYME. 


R 


INGLETY-Jing! 

And  what  will  we  sing? 
Some  little  crinkety-crankety  thing 

That  rhymes  and  chimes, 

And  skips,  sometimes, 
As  though  wound  up  with  a  kink  in  the   spring. 

Grunkety-krung ! 

And  chunkety-plung ! 
Sing  the  song  that  the  bull-frog  sung, — 
A  song  of  the  soul 
O  a  mad  tadpole 

That  met  his  fate  in  a  leaky  bowl: 
And  it's  O  for  the  first  false  wiggle  he  made 
In  a  sea  of  pale  pink  lemonade ! 
And  it's  O  for  the  thirst 

Within  him  pent, 
And  the  hopes  that  burst 
As  his  reason  went — 
When  his  strong  arm  failed  and  his  strength  was  spent ! 

Sing,  O  sing! 
Of  the  things  that  cling, 

And  the  claws  that  clutch  and  the  fangs  that  sting — 
Till  the  tadpole's  tongue 


144  A  NONSENSE  RHYME. 

And  his  tail  upflung 
Quavered  and  failed  with  a  song  unsung ! 

O  the  dank  despair  in  the  rank  morass, 
Where  the  cray-fish  crouch  in  the  cringing  grass, 
And  the  long  limp  rune  of  the  loon  wails  on 
For  the  mad,  sad  soul 
Of  a  bad  tadpole 

Forever  lost  and  gone ! 

Jinglety-Jee! 
And  now  we'll  see 
What  the  last  of  the  lay  shall  be, 

As  the  dismal  tip  of  the  tune,  O  friends, 
Swoons  away  and  the  long  tale  ends. 
Aud  it's  O  and  alack ! 

For  the  tangled  legs 
And  the  spangled  back 

Of  the  green  grig's  eggs, 
And  the  unstrung  strain 
Of  the  strange  refrain 
That  the  winds  wind  up  like  a  strand  of  rain ! 

And  it's  O, 

Also, 

For  the  ears  wreathed  low, 
Like  a  laurel- wreath  on  the  lifted  brow 
Of  the  frog  that  chants  of  the  why  and  how, 


A  NONSENSE  RHYME.  145 

And  the  wherefore  too,  and  the  thus  and  so 
Of  the  wail  he  weaves  in  a  woof  of  woe ! 

Twangle,  then,  with  your  wrangling  strings, 

The  tinkling  links  of  a  thousand  things ! 

And  clang  the  pang  of  a  maddening  moan 

Till  the  Echo,  hid  in  a  land  unknown, 

Shall  leap  as  he  hears,  and  hoot  and  hoo 
Like  the  wretched  wraith  of  a  Whoopty-Doo! 


146  NAUGHTY  CLAUDE. 


NAUGHTY  CLAUDE. 

WHEN  Little  Claude  was  naughty  wunst 
At  dinner-time,  an'   said 
He  wo'nt  say  "  Thank  you"  to  his  Ma, 

She  maked  him  go  to  bed 
An'  stay  two  hours  an'  not  git  up, — 
So  when  the  clock  struck  Two, 
Nen  Claude  says, — "Thank  you,  Mr.  Clock, 
I'm  much  obleeged  to  you!" 


THE  OLD,   OLD   WISH.  147 


THE  OLD,  OLD  WISH. 

LAST  night,  in  some  lost  mood  of  meditation, 
The  while  my  dreamy  vision  ranged  the  far 
Unfathomable  arches  of  creation, 

I  saw  a  falling  star: 

And  as  my  eyes  swept  round  the  path  it  embered 

With  the  swift -dying  glory  of  its  glow, 
With  sudden  intuition  I  remembered 

A  wish  of  long  ago — 

A  wish  that,  were  it  made — so  ran  the  fancy 

Of  credulous  young  lover  and  of  lass — 
As  fell  a  star,  by  some  strange  necromancy, 
Would  surely  come  to  pass. 

And,  of  itself,  the  wish,  reiterated 

A  thousand  times  in  youth,  flashed  o'er  my  brain, 
And,  like  the  star,  as  soon  obliterated, 

Dropped  into  night  again. 

For  my  old  heart  had  wished  for  the  unending 

Devotion  of  a  little  maid  of  nine — 
And  that  the  girl-heart,  with  the  woman's  blending, 
Might  be  forever  mine. 

And  so  it  was,  with  eyelids  raised,  and  weighty 
With  ripest  clusterings  of  sorrow's  dew, 
I  cried  aloud  through  heaven:    "O  little  Katie! 
When  will  my  wish  come  true?" 


148  "THE  PREACHER'S  BOY: 


"THE  PREACHER'S  BOY." 

Irickollect  the  little  tad,  back,  years  and  years  ago — 
"The  Preacher's  Boy"  that  everyone  despised  and  hated  so! 
A  meek-faced  little  feller,  with  white  eyes  and  foxy  hair, 
And  a  look  like  he  expected  ser'ous  trouble  everywhere: 
A  sort  o'  fixed  expression  of  suspicion  in  his  glance; 
His  bare-feet  always  scratched  with  briers;  and   green   stains 

on  his  pants; 

Molasses  marks  along  his  sleeves;  his  cap-rim  turned  behind — 
And  so  it  is  the  "Preacher's  Boy"  is  brought  again   to    mind! 

My  fancy  even  brings  the  sly  marauder  back  so  plain, 
I  see  him  jump  our  garden-fence  and  slip  off  down  the  lane; 
And  I  seem  to  holler  at  him  and  git  back  the  old  reply: 
"Oh,  no:  your  peaches  is  too  green  fer  such  a  worm  as  I!" 
For  he  scorned  his  father's  phrases — every  holy  one   he  had — 
"As  good  a  man,"  folks  put  it,  "as  that  boy  of  his   was   bad!" 
And  again  from  their  old   buggy-shed,    I   hear    the   "rod   un- 

spared"— 
Of  course  that  never   "spoiled  the   child"   for   which   nobody 

cared ! 


"THE  PREACHER'S  BOY"  149 

If  any  neighbor  ever  found  his  gate  without  a  latch, 
Or  rines  around  the  edges  of  his  watermelon  patch; 
His  pasture-bars  left  open;  or  his  pump-spout  chocked  with 

clay, 

He'd  swear  'twas  "that  infernal  Preacher's  Boy,"  right  away! 
When  strings  was  stretched  acrost    the    street    at    night,  and 

some  one  got 

An  everlastin'  tumble,  and  his  nose  broke,  like  as  not, 
And  laid  it  on  "The  Preacher's  Boy" — no  powers  lowner  high, 
Could  ever  quite  substantiate  that  boy's  alibi! 

And  did  nobody  like  the  boy? — Well,  all  the  pets  in  town 
Would  eat  out  of  his  fingers;  and  canaries  would    come  down 
And  leave  their  swingin'  perches  and  their  fishbone  jist  to  pick 
The  little  warty  knuckles  that  the  dogs  would  leap    to  lick.- — 
No  little  snarlin',  snappin1  fiste  but  what  would  leave  his  bone 
To  foller,  ef  he  whistled,  in  that  tantalizin"1  tone 
That  made  the  goods-box  whittler  blasphemeusly  protest 
"He  couldn't  tell,  'twixt  dog  and  boy,  which  one  was  ornriest!" 

'Twas  such  a  little  cur  as  this,  onc't,  when  the  crowd  was 
thick 

Along  the  streets,  a  drunken  corner-loafer  tried  to  kick, 

When  a  sudden  foot  behind  him  tripped  him  up,  and  fall- 
ing so 

He  "marked  his  man,"  and  jerked  his  gun — drawed  up  and 
let  'er  go ! 


150  "TffE  PREACHERS  BOY" 

And  the  crowd  swarmed    round    the    victim — holding    close 

against  his  breast 

The  little  dog  unharmed,  in  arms  that  still,  as   they   caressed, 
Grew  rigid  in  their  last  embrace,  as  with  a  smile  of  joy 
lie   recognized   the  dog  was  saved.     So  died  the  "Preacher's 

Boy!" 

When  it  appeared,  before  the  'Squire,  that  fatal  pistol-ball 

Was  fired  at  "a  dangerous  beast,"  and  not  the  boy  at  all, 

And  the  facts  set  forth  established, — it  was  like-befittin'  then 

To  order  out  a  possy  of  the  "city  councilmen" 

To  kill  the  dog  \  But,  strange  to  tell,  they  searched  the  coun- 
try round, 

And  never  hide-ner-hair  of  that  "said"  dog  was  ever  found ! 

And,  somehow,  then  I  sort  o'  thought — and  halfway  think, to- 
day— 

The  spirit  of  "The  Preacher's  Boy"  had  whistled  him  away. 


AN  IMPE  TUO  US  RES OL  VE.  151 


AN  IMPETUOUS  RESOLVE. 

WHEN  little  Dickie  Swope's  a  man, 
He's  go'  to  be  a  Sailor; 
An'  little  Hamey  Tincher,  he's 

A-go'  to  be  a  Tailor: 
Bud  Mitchell,  he's  a-go'  to  be 
A  stylish  Carriage-Maker; 
An'  when  /  grow  a  grea'-big  man, 
I'm  go'  to  be  a  Baker ! 

An'  Dick'll  buy  his  sailor-suit 

O'  Hame;  an'  Hame'll  take  it 
An'  buy  as  fine  a  double-rigg 

As  ever  Bud  can  make  it: 
An'  nen  all  three'll  drive  roun'  fer  me, 

An'  we'll  drive  off  togevver, 
A-slingin'  pie-crust  'long  the  road 

Ferever  an'  ferever ! 


152  A  SUDDEN  SHOWER. 


A  SUDDEN  SHOWER. 

BAREFOOTED  boys  scud  up  the  street, 
Or  skurry  under  sheltering  sheds; 
And  schoolgirl  faces,  pale  and  sweet, 

Gleam  from  the  shawls  about  their  heads. 


Doors  bang;  and  mother-voices  call 
From  alien  homes;  and  rusty  gates 

Are  slammed;  and  high  above  it  all, 
The  thunder  grim  reverberates. 

And  then,  abrupt, — the'rain !  the  rain ! — 
The  earth  lies  gasping;  and  the  eyes 

Behind  the  streaming  window-pane 
Smile  at  the  trouble  of  the  skies. 

The  highway  smokes;  sharp  echoes  ring; 

The  cattle  bawl  and  cowbells  clank; 
And  into  town  comes  galloping 

The  farmer's  horse,  with  steaming  flank. 

The  swallow  dips  beneath  the  eaves, 

And  flirts  his  plumes  and  folds  his  wings; 

And  under  the  cataba  leaves 

The  catterpillar  curls  and  clings. 


A  SUDDEN  SHOWER. 


153 


The  bumble-bee  is  pelted  down 

The  wet  stem  of  the  hollyhock; 
And  sullenly,  in  spattered  brown, 

The  cricket  leaps  the  garden  walk. 

Within,  the  baby  claps  his  hands 

And  crows  with  rapture  strange  and  vague; 
Without,  beneath  the  rosebush  stands 

A  dripping  rooster  on  one  leg. 


154  THE  HUNTER  BOY. 

THE  HUNTER  BOY. 

HUNTER  Boy  of  Hazelwood— 
Happier  than  Robin  Hood! 
Dance  across  the  green,  and  stand 
Suddenly,  with  lifted  hand 
Shading  eager  eyes,  and  be 
Thus  content  to  capture  me! — 
Cease  thy  quest  for  wilder  prey 
Than  my  willing  heart  to-day ! 
Hunter  Boy !  with  belt  and  bow, 
Bide  with  me,  or  let  me  go, 
An  thou  wilt,  in  wake  of  thee, 
Questing  for  mine  infancy ! 
With  thy  glad  face  in  the  sun, 
Let  thy  laughter  over-run 
Thy  ripe  lips,  until  mine  own 
Answer,  ringing,  tone  for  tone ! 
O  My  Hunter !  tilt  the  cup 
Of  thy  silver  bugle  up, 
And  like  wine  pour  out  for  me 
All  its  limpid  melody ! 
Pout  thy  happy  lips  and  blare 
Music's  kisses  everywhere — 
Whiff  o'er  forest,  field  and  town, 
Tufts  of  tune  like  thistledown ! 
O  to  go,  as  once  1  could, 
Hunter  Boy  of  Hazelwood! 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  MOON.  155 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  MOON. 

SAID  the  Raggedy  Man,  on  a  hot  afternoon: 
My! 

Sakes ! 

What  a  lot  o'  mistakes 

Some  little  folks  makes  on  The  Man  in  the  Moon! 
But  people  that's  b'en   up  to  see  him,  like  me, 
And  calls  on  him  frequent  and  intimutly, 
Might  drop  a  few  facts  that  would  interest  you 
Clean ! 

Through ! — 

If  you  wanted  'em  to — 
Some  actual  facts  that  might  interest  you ! 

O  The  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a  crick  in  his  back; 
Whee! 

Whimm ! 

Aint  you  sorry  for  him? 

And  a  mole  on  his  nose  that  is  purple  and  black; 
And  his  eyes  are  so  weak  that  they  water  and  run 
If  he  dares  to  dream  even  he  looks  at  the  sun, — 
So  he  jes'  dreams  of  stars,  as  the  doctors  advise — 
My! 

Eyes! 

But  isn't  he  wise — 
To  jes'  dream  of  stars,  as  the  doctors  advise? 


156  THE  MAN  IN  THE  MOON. 


And  the  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a  boil  on  his  ear— 
Whee ! 

Whing! 

What  a  singular  thing! 

I  know !  but  these  facts  are  authentic,  my  clear, — 
There's  a  boil  on  his  ear;  and  a  corn  on  his  chin — 
He  calls  it  a  dimple — but  dimples  stick  in — 
Yet  it  might  be  a  dimple  turned  over,  you  know! 
Whang! 
Ho! 

Why,  certainly  so ! — 
It  might  be  a  dimple  turned  over,  you  know! 

And  The  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a  rheumatic  knee — 
Gee! 

Whizz! 

What  a  pity  that  is ! 
And  his  toes  have  worked  round  where  his  heels   ought 

to  be.— 

So  whenever  he  wants  to  go  North  he  goes  South, 
And  conies  back    with    porridge-crumbs  all  round   his 

mouth, 

And  he  brushes  them  off  with  a  Japanese  fan, 
Whing! 

Whann ! 

What  a  marvelous  man ! 
What  a  very  remarkably  marvelous  man ! 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  MOON.  157 


And  the  Man  in  the  Moon,  sighed  The  Raggedy  Man ! 
Gi^s! 
So! 

Sullonesome,  you  know, — 
Up  there  by  hisse'f  sence  creation  began ! — 
That  when  I  call  on  him  and  then  come  away, 
lie  grabs  me  and  holds  me  and  begs  me  to  stay, — 
Till — Well!  if  it  wasn't  fer  Jimmy-cum-jim^ 
Dadd! 

Limb ! 

I'd  go  pardners  with  him — 
Jes'  jump  my  job  here  and  be  pardners  with  him! 


158  A  CHILD'S  HOME  LONG  AGO. 


A  CHILD'S  HOME-LONG  AGO. 

EVEN  as  the  gas-flames  flicker  to  and  fro, 
The  Old  Man's  wavering  fancies  leap  and  glow, 
As  o'er  the  vision,  like  a  mirage,  falls 
The  old  log  cabin  with  its  dingy  walls, 
And  crippled  chimney  with  its  crutch-like  prop 
Beneath  a  sagging  shoulder  at  the  top: 
The  coon-skin  battened  fast  on  either  side — 
The  wisps  of  leaf-tobacco — "cut-and-dried;" 
The  yellow  strands  of  quartered  apples,  hung 
In  rich  festoons  that  tangle  in  among 
The  morning-glory  vines  that  clamber  o'er 
The  little  clap-board  roof  above  the  door: 
The  old  well-sweep  that  drops  a  courtesy 
To  every  thristing  soul  so  graciously, 
The  stranger,  as  he  drains  the  dripping  gourd, 
Intuitively  murmurs,  "Thank  the  Lord!" 
Again  through  mists  of  memory  arise 
The  simple  scenes  of  home  before  the  eyes: — 
The  happy  mother,  humming,  with  her  wheel, 
The  dear  old  melodies  that  used  to  steal 
So  drowsily  upon  the  summer  air, 
The  house-dog  hid  his  bone,  forgot  his  care, 
And  nestled  at  her  feet,  to  dream,  perchance, 
Some  cooling  dream  of  wintertime  romance: 


A   CHILD'S  HOME  LONG  AGO.  159 

The  square  of  sunshine  thro'  the  open  door 
That  notched  its  edge  across  the  puncheon  floor, 
And  made  a  golden  coverlet  whereon 
The  god  of  slumber  had  a  picture  drawn 
Of  Babyhood,  in  all  the  loveliness 
Of  dimpled  cheek  and  limb  and  linsey  dress: 
The  bough-filled  fire-place,  and  the  mantel  wide, 
Its  fire-scorched   ankles  stretched  on  either  side, 
Where,  perched  upon  its  shoulders  'neath  the  joist, 
The  old  clock  hiccoughed,  harsh  and  husky-voiced, 
And  snarled  the  premonition,  dire  and  dread, 
When  it  should  hammer  Time  upon  the  head: 
Tomatoes,  red  and  yellow,  in  a  row, 
Preserved  not  then  for  diet,  but  for  show, — 
Like  rare  and  precious  jewels  in  the  rough 
Whose  worth  was  not  appraised  at  half  enough: 
The  jars  of  jelly,  with  their  dusty  tops; 
The  bunch  of  pennyroyal;  the  cordial  drops; 
The  flask  of  camphor,  and  the  vial  of  squills, 
The  box  of  buttons,  garden-seeds,  and  pills; 
And,  ending  all  the  mantel's  bric-a-brac, 
The  old,time-honored  "Family  Almanack." 
And  memory,  with  a  mother's  touch  of  love, 
Climbs  with  us  to  the  dusky  loft  above, 
Where  drowsily  we  trail  our  fingers  in 
The  mealy  treasures  of  the  harvest  bin; 
And,  feeling  with  our  hands  the  open  track, 


160  A   CHILD'S  HOME  LONG  AGO. 


We  pat  the  bag  of  barley  on  the  back; 

And,  groping  onward  through  the  mellow  gloom, 

We  catch  the  hidden  apple's  faint  perfume, 

And,  mingling  with  it,  fragrant  hints  of  pear 

And  musky  melon  ripening  somewhere. 

Again  we  stretch  our  limbs  upon  the  bed 

Where  first  our  simple  childish  prayers  were  said; 

And  while,  without, the  gallant  cricket    trills 

A  challange  to  the  solemn  whippoorwills, 

And,  filing  on  the  chorus  with  his  glee, 

The  katydid  whets  all  the  harmony 

To  feather-edge  of  incoherent  song, 

We  drop  asleep,  and  peacefully  along 

The  current  of  our  dreams  we  glide  away 

To  the  dim  harbor  of  another  day. 


BTLLY  GOODIN:  161 


L 


BILLY    GOODIN'. 

OOK  so  neat  an"1  sweet  in  all  yer  frills  an'  fancy    pleatin' ! 
Better  shet  yer  kitchen,  though,  afore  you  go  to  Meet  in' ! — 
Better  hide  yer  mince-meat  an'  stewed  fruit  an'  plums ! 
Better  hide  yer  pound-cake  an'  bresh  away  the  crumbs! 
Better  hide  yer  cubbord-key  when  Billy    Goodin'    comes, 
A-eatin' !  an'  a-eatin  !  an'  a-eatin' ! 


Sight  o'  Sund'y-doin's  done  'at  aint  done  in  Meetin' ! 

Sun  acrost  yer  garden-patch  a-pourin'  an'  a-beatin"; 

Meller  apples  drappin'  in  the  weeds  an'  roun'  thegroun' — 
Cling-stones  an'  sugar-pears  a-ist  a-plunkin'  down ! — 
Better  kindo'  comb  the  grass  'fore  Billy  comes  aroun', 
A-eatin'!  an'  a-eatin'!  an'  a-eatin'! 

Billy  Goodii?  ain't  a-go'  to  go  to  any  Meetin' ! 

We  nil  watch  an'  ketch  an'  give  the  little    sneak    a  beatin' ! — 
Better  hint  w c  wanto  stay'n'  snoop  yer  grapes  an'  plums ! 
Better  eat  'em  all  yerse'f  an'  suck  yer  stingy  thumbs! — 
Won't  be  nothin'  anyhow  when  Billy    Goodin'    comes! — 
A-eatin' !  an' a-eatin' !  an'  a-eatin' ! 


162  A  PASSING  HAIL. 


A  PASSING  HAIL. 

LET  us  rest  ourselves  a  bit ! 
Worry  \ — wave  your  hand  to  it- 
Kiss  your  finger-tips,  and  smile 
It  farewell  a  little  while. 

Weary  of  the  weary  way 
We  have  come  from  Yesterday, 
Let  us  fret  us  not,  instead, 
Of  the  weary  way  ahead. 

Let  us  pause  and  catch  our  breath 
On  the  hither  side  of  death, 
While  we  see  the  tender  shoots 
Of  the  grasses — not  the  roots. — 

While  we  yet  look  down — not  up — 
To  seek  out  the  buttercup 
And  the  daisy  where  they  wave 
O'er  the  green  home  of  the  grave. 

Let  us  launch  us  smoothly  on 
The  soft  billows  of  the  lawn, 
And  drift  out  across  the  main 
Of  our  childish  dreams  again: 


A  PASSING  HAIL.  163 

Voyage  off,  beneath  the  trees, 
O'er  the  field's  enchanted  seas, 
Where  the  lilies  are  our  sails, 
And  our  seagulls,  nightingales: 

Where  no  wilder  storm  shall  beat 
Than  the  wind  that  waves  the  wheat, 
And  no  tempest-burst  above 
The  old  laughs  we  used  to  love: 

Lose  all  troubles — gain  release, 
Languor,  and  exceeding  peace, 
Cruising  idly  o'er  the  vast, 
Calm  mid-ocean  of  the  Past. 

Let  us  rest  ourselves  a  bit ! 
Worry ! — wave  your  hand  to  it — 
Kiss  your  finger-tips,  and  smile 
It  farewell  a  little  while. 


1 64     PRIOR  TO  MISS  BELLE'S  APPEARANCE. 


PRIOR  TO  MISS  BELLE'S  APPEARANCE. 

WHAT  makes  you  come  here  fer,  Mister, 
So  much  to  our  house? — Say? 
Come  to  see  our  big  sister ! — 
An'  Charley  he  says  'at  you  kissed  her 

An'  he  ketched  you,  thuther  day ! — 
Didn'  you,  Charley? — But  we  p'omised  Belle 

An'  crossed  our  heart  to  never  to  tell — 
'Cause  she  gived  us  some  o'  them-er 
Chawk'lut-drops  'at  you  bringed  to  her ! 

Charley  he's  my  little  b'uther — 

An'  \ve  has  a-mostest  fun, 
Don't  we,  Charley? — Our  Muther, 
Whenever  we  whips  one-anuther, 

Tries  to  whip  us — an'  we  run — 
Don't  we,  Charley? — An'  nen,  bime-by, 
Nen  she  gives  us  cake — an'  pie — 
Don't  she,  Charley? — when  we  come  in 
An'  p'omise  never  to  do  it  agin ! 

He^s  named  Charley.— I'm  Willie— 
An'  I'm  got  the  purtiest  name ! 
But  Uncle  Bob  he  calls  me  "Billy" — 
Don't  he  Charley? — 'Nour  filly 


PRIOR  TO  MISS  BELLAS  APPEARANCE,      165 

We  named  "Billy,"  the  same 
1st  like  me!  An'  our  Ma  said 
'At  "Bob  puts  foolishnuss  into  our  head !" — 
Didn'    she,  Charley? — An'  she  don't  know 
Much  about  boys! — 'Cause  Bob  said  so ! 

Baby's  a  funniest  feller ! 

Naint  no  hair  on  his  head — 
Is  they,  Charley?     It's  meller 
Wite  up  there !    An'  ef  Belle  er 

Us  ask  wuz  we  that  way,  Ma  said, — 
"Yes;  an'  yer  Pa's  head  wuz  soft  as  that, 
An'  its  that  way  yet !" — An'  Pa  grabs  his  hat 
An'  says,  "Yes,  childern,  she's  right  about  Pa — 
'Cause  that's  the  reason  he  married  yer  Ma!" 

An'  our  Ma  says  'at  "Belle  couldn' 

Ketch  nothin'  at  all  but  1st  'bows !'  " — 

An'  Pa   says  'at  "you're  soft  as  puddun!" — 

An'  Uncle  Bob  says  "you're  a  good-un — 
'Cause  he  can  tell  by  yer  nose?" — 

Didn'  he,  Charley?  An'  when  Belle'll  play 

In  the  poller  on  th'  pianer,  some  day, 

Bob  makes  up  funny  songs  about  you, 

Till  she  gits  mad — like  he  wants  her  to ! 


166    PRIOR  TO  MISS  BELLAS  APPEARANCE. 

Our  sister  Fanny  she's  ''leven 

Years  old!  'At's  mucher  'an  / — 
Aint  it,  Charley? ....  I'm  seven ! — 
But  our  sister  Fanny's  in  Heaven! 

Nere's  where  you  go  ef  you  die ! — 
Don't  you,  Charley?  Nen  you  has  wings — 
1st  like  Fanny! — an'  pur  ties  t  things! — 
Don't  you,  Charley?  An'  nen  you  can  fly — 
1st  fly — an'  ever"1  thing !. . . .  Wisht  Fd  die ! 


SPRITE  SERENADE.  167 


SPRITE  SERENADE. 

LINGER,  my  Dwainie !  Dwainie,  lily-fair, 
Stay  yet  thy  step  upon  the  casement-stair — 
Poised  be  thy  slipper-tip  as  is  the  tine 
Of  some  still  star. — Ah,  Dwainie — Dwainie  mine, 
Yet  linger — linger  there! 

Thy  face,  O  Dwainie,  lily-pure  and  fair, 
Gleams  i'  the  dusk,  as  in  thy  dusky  hair 
The  moony  zhoomer  glimmers,  or  the  shine 
Of  thy  swift  smile. — Ah,  Dwainie — Dwainie  mine, 
Yet  linger— linger  there! 

With  lifted  wrist,  whereround  the  laughing  air 
Hath  blown  a  mist  of  lawn  and  claspt  it  there, 
Waft  finger-thipt  adieus  that  spray  the  wine 
Of  thy  waste  kisses  to'rd  me,  Dwainie  mine — 
Yet  linger — linger  there! 

What  unloosed  splendor  is  there  may  compare 
With  thy  hand's  unfurled  glory,  anywhere? 
What  glint  of  dazzling  dew  or  jewel  fine 
May  mate  thine  eyes? — Ah,   Dwainie — Dwainie   mine! 
Yet  linger — linger  there! 


1 68  SPRITE  SERENADE. 

My  soul  confronts  thee:  On  thy  brow  and  hair 
It  lays  its  tenderness  like  palms  of  prayer — 
It  touches  sacredly  those  lips  of  thine 
And  swoons  across  thy  spirit,  Dwainie  mine, 
The  while  thou  lingerest  there. 


T 


A  LIFE-LESSON.  169 


A  LIFE-LESSON. 

HERE!  little  girl;  don't  cry! 
They  have  brokerfyour  doll,  I  know; 

And  your  tea-set  blue, 

And  your  play-house,  too, 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago; 

But  childish  troubles  will  soon  pass  by. — 
There!  little  girl;  don't  cry! 


There!  little  girl;  don't  cry! 

They  have  broken  your  slate,  I  know; 
And  the  glad,  wild  ways. 
Of  your  school-girl  days 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago; 

But  life  and  love  will  soon  come   by. — 
There!  little  girl;  don't  cry! 

There!  little  girl;  don't  cry! 

They  have  broken  your  heart,  I  know; 
And  the  rainbow  gleams 
Of  your  youthful  dreams 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago; 

But  Heaven  holds  all  for  which  you  sigh. 
There!  little  girl;  don't  cry! 


1 70      HONEY  DRIPPING  FROM  THE  COMB. 


HONEY  DRIPPING  FROM  THE  COMB. 

HOW  slight  a  thing  may  set  one's  fancy  drifting 
Upon  the  dead  sea  of  the  Past ! — A  view — 
Sometimes  an  odor — or  a  rooster  lifting 
A  far-off  "Oofi!  ooh-ooh!" 

And  suddenly  we  find  ourselves  astray 

In  some  wood's-pasture  of  the  Long  Ago — 
Or  idly  dream  again  upon  a  day 

Of  rest  we  used  to  know. 

I  bit  an  apple  but  a  moment  since — 

A  wilted  apple  that  the  worm  had  spurned,- 
Yet  hidden  in  the  taste  were  happy  hints 

Of  good  old  days  returned. — 

And  so  my  heart,  like  some  enraptured  lute, 

Tinkles  a  tune  so  tender  and  complete, 
God's  blessing  must  be  resting  on  the  fruit — 
So  bitter,  yet  so  sweet ! 


IN  SWIMMING-TIME.  171 


IN  SWIMMING-TIME. 

LOUDS  above,  as  white  as  wool, 

Drifting  over  skies  as  blue 
As  the  eyes  of  beautiful 

Children  when  they  smile  at  you: 
Groves  of  maple,  elm,  and  beech, 

With  the  sunshine  sifted  through 
Branches,  mingling  each  with  each, 

Dim  with  shade  and  bright  with  dew. 

Stripling  trees,  and  poplars  hoar, 
Hickory  and  sycamore, 
And  the  drowsy  dogwood,  bowed 
Where  the  ripples  laugh  aloud, 
And  the  crooning  creek  is  stirred 

To  a  gaiety  that  now 
Mates  the  warble  of  the  bird 

Teetering  on  the  hazel-bough. 

Grasses  long  and  fine  and  fair 

As  your  schoolboy-sweetheart's  hair 

Backward  stroked  and  twirled  and  twined 

By  the  fingers  of  the  wind: 

Vines  and  mosses  interlinked. 


172  IN  SWIMMING-TIME. 


Down  dark  aisles  and  deep  ravines, 
Where  the  stream  runs,  willow-brinked, 

Round  a  bend  where  some  one  leans, 
Faint,  and  vague,  and  indistinct 

As  the  like-reflected  thing 

In  the  current  shimmering. 

Childish  voices,  further  on, 
Where  the  truant  stream  has  gone, 
Vex  the  echoes  of  the  wood 
Till  no  word  is  understood — 
Save  that  we  are  well  aware 
Happiness  is  hiding  there:- 
There,  in  leafy  coverts,  nude 

Little  bodies  poise  and  leap, 
Spattering  the  solitude 
And  the  silence,  everywhere — 

Mimic  monsters  of  the  deep! — 
Wallowing  in  sandy  shoals — 

Plunging  headlong  out  of  sight, 

And,  with  spurtings  of  delight, 
Clutching  hands,  and  slippery  soles, 

Climbing  up  the  treacherous  steep, 
Over  which  the  spring-board  spurns 
Each  again  as  he  returns ! 


IN  SWIMMING-TIME.  173 


Ah!  the  glorious  carnival! 

Purple  lips — and  chattering  teeth — 
Eyes  that  bum — But,  in  beneath, 

Every  care  beyond  recall — 

Every  task  forgotten  quite — 
And  again  in  dreams  at  night, 

Dropping,  drifting  through  in  all! 


174  SHE  "DISPLAINS"  IT. 


SHE  "DISPLAINS"   IT. 


TT 
11 


AD,  TOO!" 

"Hadn't,  neither!" 
So  contended  Bess  and  May — 

Neighbor  children,  who  were  boasting 
Of  their  grandmammas,  one  day. 

"Had,  too!" 

"Hadn't,  neither!" 
All  the  difference  begun 

By  May's  saying  she'd  two  grandmas, 
While  poor  Bess  had  only  one. 

"Had,  too!" 

"Hadn't,  neither!" 
Tossing  curls,  and  kinks  of  friz ! — 

"How  could  you  have  two  gran'muvvers 
When  ist  one  is  all  they  is?" 

"Had,  too!" 

"Hadn't,  neither!— 
'Cause  ef  you  had  two"  said  Bess, 

"You'd  displain  it !"     Then  May  answered, 
"My  gran'mas  wuz  twins,  I  guess!" 


THE  WA  Y  THE  BABY  SLEPT.  175 


THE  WAY  THE  BABY  SLEPT. 

THIS  is  the  way  the  baby  slept: 
A  mist  of  tresses  backward  thrown 
By  quavering  sighs  where  kisses  crept 

With  yearnings  she  had  never  known: 
The  little  hands  were  closely  kept 

About  a  lily  newly  blown — 
And  God  was  with  her.     And  we  wept. — 
And  this  is  the  way  the  baby  slept. 


176  THE  JOLLY  MILLER. 


THE  JOLLY  MILLER. 

[Restored  Romaunt.] 

IT  was  a  Jolly  Miller  lived  on  the  River  Dee; 
He  looked  upon  his  piller,  and  there  he  found  a  flea: 
"O  Mr.  Flea!  you  have  bit'   me, 
And  you  shall  shorely  die !" 
So  he  scrunched  his  bones  aginst  the  stones — 
And  there  he  let  him  lie ! 

'Twas  then  the  Jolly  Miller  he  laughed  and  told  his  wife, 
And  she  laughed  fit  to  kill  her,  and  dropped  her  carvin' -knife 
"O  Mr.  Flea!"    "Ho-ho!"  "Tee-hee!" 

They  both  laughed  fit  to  kill, 
Until  the  sound  did  almost  drownd 

The  rumble  of  the  mill! 

'•'•Laugh  on,  my  Jolly  Miller!  and  Missus  Miller,  too! — 
But  there's  a  weeping-wilier  will  soon  wave  over  you!'1'' 
The  voice  was  all  so  awful  small — 

So  very  small  and  slim ! — 
He  durst'  infer  that  it  was  her, 

Ner  her  infer  'twas  him ! 


THE  JOLL  Y  MILLER.  177 

That  night  the  Jolly  Miller,  says  he,  "Its  Wifey  dear, 
That  cat  o'  yourn,  I'd  kill  her! — her  actions  is  so  queer, — 
She  rubbin'  'ginst  the  grindstone-legs, 

And  yowlin'  at  the  sky — 
And  I  'low  the  moon  haint  greener 

Than  the  yaller  of  her  eye !" 

And  as  the  Jolly  Miller  went  chuckle-un  to  bed, 

Was  Somcpin  jerked  his  piller  from  underneath  his  head! 

"O  Wife,"  says  he,  on-easi-lee, 

"Fetch  here  that  lantern  there!" 
But  Somepin  moans  in  thunder  tones, 

"  You  tetch  it  ef  you  dare!" 

'Twas  then  the  Jolly  Miller  he  trimbled  and  he  quailed — 
And  his  wife  choked  until  her  breath  comeback,  'n'  she  wailed! 
And  "O!"  cried  she,  "it  is  the  Flea, 

All  white  and  pale  and  wann — 
He's  got  you  in  his  clutches,  and 

He^s  bigger  than  a  man!" 

"Ho!  ho!  my  Jolly  Miller,"  (fer  "'twas  the  Flea,  fer  shore!) 
"/  reckon  yoifllnot  rack  my  bones  ner  scrunch  ">em  any  more!" 
And  then  the  Ghost  he  grabbed  him  clos't, 

With  many  a  ghastly  smile, 
And  from  the  doorstep  stooped  and  hopped 

About  four  hunderd  mile ! 


178  WITH  THE  CURRENT. 


WITH  THE  CURRENT. 

RAREST  mood  of  all  the  year! 
Aimless,  idle,  and  content — 
Sky  and  wave  and  atmosphere 

Wholly  indolent. 

Little  daughter,  loose  the  band 

From  your  tresses — let  them  pour 
Shadow-like  o'er  arm  and  hand 
Idling  at  the  oar. 

Low  and  clear,  and  pure  and  deep, 

Ripples  of  the  river  sing — 
Water-lilies,  half  asleep, 

Drowsed  with  listening. 

Tremulous  reflex  of  skies — 

Skies  above  and  skies  below,— 
Paradise  and  Paradise 

Blending  even  so ! 

Blossoms  with  their  leaves  unrolled 

Laughingly,  as  they  were  lips 
Cleft  with  ruddy  beaten  gold 

Tongues    of  pollen-tips. 


WITH  THE  CURRENT.  179 

Rush  and  reed,  and  thorn  and  vine, 

Clumped  with  grasses  lithe  and  tall — 
With  a  web  of  summer-shine 

Woven  round  it  all. 

Back  and  forth  and  to  and  fro — 

Flashing  scale  and  wing  as  one, — 
Dragonflies  that  come  and  go, 

Shuttled  by  the  sun. 

Fairy  lilts  and  lullabies, 

Fine  as  phantasy  conceives — 
Echoes  wrought  of  cricket-cries 

Sifted  through  the  leaves. 

O'er  the  rose,  with  drowsy  buzz, 

Hangs  the  bee,    and  stays  his  kiss, 
Even  as  my  fancy  does, 

Gypsy,  over  this. 

Let  us  both  be  children — share 

Youth's  glad  voyage  night  and  day. 
Drift  adown  it,  half  aware, 

Anywhere  we  may. — 

Drift  and  curve  and  deviate, 

Veer  and  eddy,  float  and  flow, 
Waver,  swerve  and  undulate, 

As  the  bubbles  go. 


i8o  A  SLEEPING  BEAUTY. 


A  SLEEPING  BEAUTY. 

i. 

AN  alien  wind  that  blew  and  blew 
Over  the  fields  where  the  ripe  grain  grew, 

Sending  ripples  of  shine  and  shade 

That  crept  and  crouched  at  her  feet  and  played. 

The  sea-like  summer  washed  the  moss 
Till  the  sun-drenched  lilies  hung  like  floss, 

Draping  the  throne  of  green  and  gold 
That  lulled  her  there  like  a  queen  of  old. 

II. 

Was  it  the  hum  of  a  bumble-bee, 
Or  the  long-hushed  bugle  eerily 

Winding  a  call  to  the  daring  Prince 
Lost  in  the  wood  long  ages  since? — 

A  dim  old  wood,  with  a  palace  rare 
Hidden  away  in  its  depths  somewhere ! 

Was  it  the  Princess,  tranced  in  sleep, 
Awaiting  her  lover's  touch  to  leap 

Into  the  arms  that  bent  above? — 

To  thaw  his  heart  with  the  breath  of  love — 

And  cloy  his  lips,  through  her  waking  tears, 
With  the  dead-ripe  kiss  of  a  hundred  years ! 


A  SLEEPING  BEAUTY.  181 

in. 

An  alien  wind  that  blew  and  blew. — 
I  had  blurred  my  eyes   as  the  artists  do, 

Coaxing  life  to  a  half-sketched  face, 
Or  dreaming  bloom  for  a  grassy  place. 

The  bee  droned  on  in  an  undertone; 
And  a  shadow-bird  trailed  all  alone 

Across  the  wheat,  while  a  liquid  cry 
Dripped  from  above,  as  it  went  by. 

What  to  her  was  the  far-off  whir 

Of  the  quail's  quick  wing  or  the  chipmunk's  chirr? — 

What  to  her  was  the  shade  that  slid 
Over  the  hill  where  the  reapers  hid? — 

Or  what  the  hunter,  with  one  foot  raised, 
As  he  turned  to  go — yet,  pausing,  gazed? 


182  AT  A  UNTY'S  HO  USE. 


AT  AUNTY'S  HOUSE. 

ONE  time,  when  we's  at  Aunty's  house- 
'Way  in  the  country! — where 
They's  ist  but  woods — an'  pigs,  an'  cows — 

An'  all's  out-doors  an'  air! — 
An'  orchurd-swing;  an'  churry-trees — 
An'  churries  in  'em ! — Yes,  an'  these- 
Here  red-head  birds  steals  all  they  please. 

An'  tetch  'em  ef  you  dare ! — 
W'y,  wunst,  one  time,  when  we  wuz  there. 
We  et  out  on  the  porch! 

Wite  where  the  cellar-door  wuz  shut 

The  table  wuz;  an'  I 
Let  Aunty  set  by  me  an'  cut 

My  vittuls  up — an'  pie. 
'Tuz  awful  funny! — I  could  see 
The  red-heads  in  the  churry-tree; 
An'  bee-hives,  where  you  got  to  be 

So  keerful,  goin'  by; — 
An'  "Comp'ny"  there  an'  all ! — an'  we— 
We  et  out  on  the  porch! 


A  T  A  UN T  Y'S  HO  USE.  1 83 

An'  I  ist  et  p^snrves  an'  things 

'At  Ma  don't  'low  me  to — 
An'  chickun-gizzurds — (don't  like  wings 

Like  Pant  tits  does!  do  you?) 
An'  all  the  time,  the  wind  blowed  there, 
An'  I  could  feel  it  in  my  hair, 
An'  ist  smell  clover  everywhere  I — 

An'  a'  old  red-head  flew 
Purt'  nigh  wite  over  my  high-chair, 
When  we  et  on  the  porch! 


1 84  THE   WHITHERAWAYS, 


THE  WHITHERAWAYS. 
[Set  Sail,  Oct.   15,  1890.] 

THE  Whitheraways !— That's  what  I'll  have  to   call 
You — sailing  off,  with  never  word  at  all 
Of  parting! — sailing  'way  across  the  sea, 
With  never  one  good-bye  to  me — to  ME  ! 

Sailing  away  from  me,  with  no  farewell ! — 
Ah,  Parker  Hitt  and  sister  Muriel — 
And  Rodney,  too,  and  little  Laurance — all 
Sailing  away — just  as  the  leaves,  this  Fall ! 

Well,  then,  /  too  shall  sail  on  cheerily 
As  now  you  all  go  sailing  o'er  the  sea: 
I've  other  little  friends  with  me  on  shore — 
Though  they  but  make  me  yearn  for  yon   the  more ! 

And  so,  sometime,  dear  little  friends  afar, 
When  this  faint  voice  shall  reach  you,  and  you  are 
All  just  a  little  homesick,  you  must  be 
As  brave  as  I  am  now,  and  think  of  me! 

Or,  haply,  if  your  eyes,  as  mine,  droop  low, 
And  would  be  humored  with  a  tear  or  so, — 
Go  to  your  Parents,  Children! — let  them  do 
The  crying — 'twill  be  easier  for  them  to ! 


ENVOY.  185 


ENVOY. 

MANY  pleasures  of  Youth  have  been  buoyantly  sung- 
And,  borne  on  the  winds  of  delight,  may  they  beat 
With  their  palpitant  wings  at  the  hearts  of  the  Young, 

And  in  bosoms  of  Age  find  as  warm  a  retreat ! — 
Yet  sweetest  of  all  of  the  musical  throng, 

Though  least  of  the  numbers  that  upward  aspire, 
Is  the  one  rising  now  into  wavering  song, 

As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 

'Tis  a  Winter  long  dead  that  beleaguers  my  door 

And  muffles  his  steps  in  the  snows  of  the  past: 
And  I  see,  in  the  embers  I'm  dreaming  before, 

Lost  faces  of  love  as  they  looked  on  me  last : — 
The  round,  laughing  eyes  of  the  desk-mate  of  old 

Gleam  out  for  a  moment  with  truant  desire — 
Then  fade  and  are  lost  in  a  City  of  Gold, 

As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 

And  then  comes  the  face,  peering  back  in  my  own, 

Of  a  shy  little  girl,  with  her  lids  drooping  low, 
As  she  faltering  tells,  in  a  far-away  tone, 

The  ghost  of  a  story  of  long,  long  ago. — 
Then  her  dewy  blue  eyes  they  are  lifted  again; 

But  1  see  their  glad  light  slowly  fail  and  expire, 
As  I  reach  and  cry  to  her  in  vain,  all  in  vain ! — 

As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 


186  ENVO  Y. 


Then  the  face  of  a  Mother  looks  back,  through  the  mist 

Of  the  tears  that  are  welling;  and,  lucent  with  light, 
I  see  the  dear  smile  of  the  lips  I  have  kissed 

As  she  knelt  by  my  cradle  at  morning  and  night ; 
And  my  arms  are  outheld,  with  a  yearning  too  wild 

For  any  but  God  in  His  love  to  inspire, 
As  she  pleads  at  the  foot  of  His  throne  for  her  child, — 

As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 

O  pathos  of  rapture !  O  glorious  pain ! 

My  heart  is  a  blossom  of  joy  over-run 
With  a  shower  of  tears,  as  a  lily  with  rain 

That  weeps  in   the  shadow  and  laughs  in  the  sun. 
The  blight  of  the  frost  may  descend  on  the  tree, 

And  the  leaf  and  the  flower  may  fall  and  expire, 
But  ever  and  ever  love  blossoms  for  me, 

As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 


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